Geometric Improbability
by EclecticTrekker
Summary: As Charlie works on a formula to find the perpetrators of a robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals? DT ANGST.
1. Commencement

"**Geometric Improbability"**

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **K+ (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this.

Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Chapter One:**

When Don Eppes entered the Los Angeles FBI office with the morning bagels and coffee, he was still undecided as to whether Charlie had ever left the night before. When he had headed home after a long day, Charlie was still poring over his scribblings and notes, barely acknowledging his goodnight. If Charlie had come home at all, he had left for the office again early that morning, since he was nowhere to be seen when Don woke up for work. Charlie was now stationed in front of a huge white board, marker in hand, furiously scribbling figures into the jumble of numbers and symbols already present.

"Charlie? Pull another all-nighter?" Don asked.

His brother turned from the whiteboard, looking more haggard than Don had seen him in a long time. Though his eyes were sparking with enthusiasm, the dark circles underneath betrayed his exhaustion.

Waving the comment off, he brushed stray hair from his forehead. "I had to. I think I'm close to getting this one."

Don perked up, dumped the bagel bag on a cluttered desk, and moved to the whiteboard with interest.

"Care to explain it?"

"Nope." Charlie shook his head, "Better wait for everyone else. There's no use starting twice. Hey, you brought coffee?"

"Yeah. Yours is second on the left." Don studied the board but knew it was hopeless; the numbers were little more than gibberish to him. He was about to press Charlie further, but his brother had started gulping his hot coffee with such determination that the words were abandoned before he even began.

Just then, Don's partner Terry Lake entered the meeting room, looking flushed and energetic. She grinned him a hello and immediately set to work on a bagel with such intensity that all Don could do was stare.

"You probably could eat it faster if you really tried," he said semi-seriously.

She swallowed some coffee. "Sorry. My car broke down last night, so I walked here this morning."

"You walked? You do know that LA has an excellent public transportation system, don't you?" he asked.

Terry shrugged. "It was only twenty blocks, Don."

He smiled at her incredulously. "_Only_ twenty blocks? Just keep working at that bagel – you'll need it for the trip back tonight."

Smiling at him, she pulled the case file on the table toward her seat and skimmed the contents for the morning update.

Don was glad to see David Sinclair and Agent Brooks round the corner up the hall. Michael Brooks was new to the team, a brilliant psychiatrist and interrogator who had several years of experience and several commendations under his belt. Though Don always appreciated whatever help he could get on a case, he was sometimes hesitant about adding new members to a team. If styles and personalities didn't quite mesh, the whole affair could be a disaster.

Luckily, Brooks proved to be quite the character, taking an immediate liking to Don and Charlie, conversing smoothly with David, and, to Don's amusement and chagrin, succumbing to occasional flirting with Terry. Brooks was fairly young, no older than 33 or 34, very intelligent, and very good-looking. Though he was able to make perceptive observations and leaps of rationale, he was also a team-player and possessed an amazing sense of humor, knowing when and if jokes were appropriate. Don was pleased with his addition to the team and hoped it would stick beyond this assignment.

Now that the team was assembled, Charlie turned from the whiteboard, finally ready to present his new findings.

"I've finally figured out the pattern," he began in an excited voice, "Concentric circles! The intervals of time between the crimes aren't exact, but they're close. The differences in location are too. I mapped it out here."

He motioned toward the huge map of the Los Angeles area where the nine murder/robberies that had occurred were marked with pushpins. There were now large, dark circles connecting clusters of the pins, which now seemed to resemble crop circles.

"Now that I know the pattern, it looks like the group never strikes in the same area for long. If there's some pattern to where these occur" – he motioned toward the clustered circles – "we might be able to triangulate where the attackers are from, or at least, where to expect more attacks."

Don exhaled, already feeling better than he had in days. This case had been bothering him, even more than usual, and he was glad the team finally had a lead to go on. Over the past three months, there had been nine residential robberies, each accompanied by the brutal strangulation of the home's inhabitants. There seemed to be no clear link between victims, no discernible pattern in attack. The valuables that were taken in each case didn't even overlap; the criminals didn't seem to be searching for anything in particular – whatever was there, they took.

The group – Terry was positive it couldn't be the work of a single man – was also incredibly careful. No fingerprints, no evidence, no sloppy mistakes of any kind were made. By this point, leads were slim and tensions running high, so immense relief flooded Don when he heard Charlie's optimistic news. Glancing around the table, he caught the eyes of Terry and David, who both gave him jubilant smiles. Agent Brooks leaned back in his chair, looking reservedly pleased with Charlie's progress.

"So you've got them?" he asked slowly, "You really think we can nail these guys?"

Nodding, Charlie replied, "Yeah, I think we can. The formula needs to be smoothed over, but I think we can seriously work on finding them in the next few days."

He paused, and Don could tell he was about to launch into a full-length litany of mathematical theory, so he cut him off by rising swiftly and allowing the group to break off into their separate tasks. Charlie immediately turned back to the whiteboard, pausing to consult a scrap of paper on the desk and scribble a few Greek symbols into the jumbled mess. Terry and Brooks started in on a huge pile of case files from the National Bureau, trying to find any previous crimes that were committed in the same style as these. As Don and David headed down to the evidence lab, he couldn't help but feel optimistic about the day before him.


	2. Shatterings

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Chapter Two:**

The day proved to be another long and difficult one. The team worked tirelessly until noon when Don insisted they all take a break to stay fresh. Agent Brooks left to make a phone call and didn't return until after lunch. David, Don, and Charlie gathered around a pizza and discussed the evening's baseball game while Terry curled up on the couch with the newspaper. The break went all too quickly, and the group soon found themselves furiously working away late into the night.

Don leaned back in his chair, wearily rubbing his eyes. It was 10:15, and he felt utterly exhausted. David had gone home earlier with a stack of files – his bedtime reading material for the night. Charlie had his fingertips pressed to his forehead and was perched pensively on a stool in front of the whiteboard. He looked as exhausted as Don felt; he'd make sure his brother got some sleep tonight.

He heard Terry laughing softly, and he glanced over at the corner where she and Agent Brooks had been working. Brooks was pulling on his coat, talking quietly with her. As Don watched, he shook his head and gave her a pat on the shoulder, waving goodbye to the Eppes brothers as he headed out the door.

Don watched Terry with a bemused expression. Feeling his gaze, she glanced up and caught his eye. "What's that look for?" she asked.

"Nothing. I was just wondering what was so funny," he answered playfully.

"It was nothing," she replied. Seeing his expression, she insisted, "Really! He just offered to walk me home. I told him I'd be fine on my own."

"Well, I _could_ give you a ride if you wanted one. Your place is right on the way home for Charlie and I," Don offered.

"I don't mind walking, it's just twenty blocks." Terry stood, gathering her things. "It's a nice night, and it'll give me time to think."

"Well, if you're sure…" he said, doubtfully.

She grinned at him gratefully. "I'm sure, but thanks anyway. I'm going to take copies of the Hardaway and Rutgers files home, see if I can find anything there."

"Sounds good. If I can't dissuade you from your cross-country trek, I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning," Don said.

Terry laughed, "Absolutely. I'll see you guys later."

Charlie waved goodbye in an absent manner, and Don stood, stretching and groaning as his joints creaked and popped painfully. He clapped Charlie on the shoulder, pulling him away from his notes and out the door of the now-deserted office.

Terry pushed open the doors of the FBI building and headed out into the cool night breeze. The streets were slowly emptying by this time of night, and most of the store-front windows were dark and barred. The evening was surprisingly clear and she could see several stars in the sky – a rare sight in Los Angeles.

She walked for several blocks, passing no one and enjoying the relative silence. Her mind swirled with thoughts of the case, and she gripped the copies of the case files even tighter. Charlie was getting close to finishing this one, maybe even in the next day or so. If only they could—

"Excuse me, miss?"

The voice startled her out of her reverie, and Terry turned swiftly on the balls of her feet. The man behind was tall, nearly six foot six, with a dark, chiseled face, barely illuminated by the shadowy quality of the street lamps. She had no idea how someone so enormous had managed to move so quietly.

"Could you tell me how to get to West Avenue?" he asked.

"Oh, sure," she said, slightly flustered, "It's two blocks back the way you came. Just make a left on 7th Street."

"Thanks." Terry turned to go but felt her stomach tighten as his hand closed on her upper arm, iron fingers easily clamping down and yanking her backwards.

She swung around, panic and fear suddenly blossoming in her mind. Dropping the case files, she brought around her left fist, but the man caught it in his other hand with ease. Futilely trying to fend him off, she was horrified to find he seemed to anticipate and block her every move. She attempted to hook a foot around his ankle and trip him up, but he rebutted with a swift kick in the shins. Thrown to the pavement, Terry felt her head slam painfully onto the cement. Black spots bloomed before her eyes, and her attacker pinned her to the ground, stuffing a handkerchief into her mouth.

Suddenly, Terry saw a van come careening around the corner, screeching to a halt next to the sidewalk. The car's side doors flew open, and three more men burst out. They hoisted her off the ground as she struggled against them. She managed to free her right arm, lunging toward an opening in the mass of bodies. Something cracked into the back of her neck with explosive force, and Terry crumpled to her knees. She was dimly aware of being lifted and thrown into the open van, slamming into the far wall as the world suddenly went black.

Review please! The more reviews, the quicker I write!


	3. Realization

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Chapter Three:**

Don woke the next morning feeling refreshed and energetic, confident that the day would be a productive one – Charlie was _so_ close to cracking the case. He showered and changed into a clean suit, grabbing a donut and coffee from the counter downstairs. He glanced out the kitchen window and saw Charlie already sitting in the passenger seat of the car, head bowed, a notebook open on his lap, and a pen moving furiously across the page.

Chuckling, Don took the keys from the rack near the door and walked out to the car, watching Charlie's head snap up as the door slammed shut.

"So, think it'll be a good day?" he asked, backing into the street.

Charlie nodded with an optimistic smile. "We're close. Really close."

It was good enough for Don.

So far, the day hadn't been going well. Don glanced up at the clock again for the ninth time in five minutes. It was 9:27, and Terry, who was punctual to the point of neurosis, had yet to arrive. She was nearly a half-hour late for work and hadn't answered either of Don's calls. He was starting to feel inexplicably apprehensive, but he tried his best to calm himself.

_ 'I'll give her three minutes. Three minutes. Come on, you're worried for nothing – doesn't she deserve to be late once in her life? No big deal,' _he thought.

The others were scattered throughout the briefing room, quietly working on tasks for the case. Charlie was back at the whiteboard, transferring new figures from a piece of scrap paper to his half-completed formula, and David and Agent Brooks were huddled around one of the back computers, hacking away at a profiling simulation.

_' David's getting pretty good at that stuff. He's learning quickly,' _Don thought, silently watching the pair from his desk, _'But Terry's got the handle on it. She can profile like there's no tomorrow –'_

He looked back up at the clock. 9:28.

_ 'It's fine,' _he thought rapidly, _'She's just caught up in some traffic. I think that they're doing some road work on her street –'_

Don suddenly sat bolt upright in his seat, remembering that she didn't have a car. It had broken down the day before yesterday.

He stood quickly, practically leaping up from his desk, and headed for the door, pulling on his coat as he went. David looked up at him curiously.

"I'll be back soon. Just hold down the fort for a while."

Without waiting for a word of acknowledgement, he rushed out to the parking lot and started the car, whipping out his cell phone to call her for the third time that morning. He let it ring nine times before finally giving up.

As he drove the twenty blocks to her apartment, Don attempted to calm his swirling mind with logical thought. _'Knowing Terry, she probably just stayed up late last night reviewing the files. She was exhausted and just forgot to get up this morning.'_

Unfortunately, a sickening, nagging voice in the back of his mind kept interfering with his rational thought pattern. _'A half-hour late. A half-hour. And she's never late. Terry is _never _late.'_

He gripped the steering wheel tighter as her building drew closer. Parking along the curb, he forced himself to take the time to deposit a quarter in the parking meter and forced himself to take the stairs one at a time.

Upon reaching her apartment, he knocked loudly. There was no answer, so he rapped again even more insistently. Alarm bells started to go off in his head when no one came to the door, and he took no time in letting himself in with the spare key she had given him a few months ago.

The apartment was dark and quiet. "Terry?" he called, hardly expecting an answer at this point. He moved quietly to the bedroom, knocking only once before entering. The bed was neatly made, and a pile of clothes was folded in a laundry basket, but there was no sign of Terry.

He hurried back to the kitchen and saw the blinking light on her answering machine. Don pressed the button and was horrified to hear his own voice coming from the machine; he had left a message last night, calling right after she left the office. He'd forgotten to remind her that weapons inspection had been moved to Friday. She'd never played the message. She had never come home.

Don bolted for the door, dialing Charlie's cell phone number as he went. He fought down waves of barely constrained panic as Charlie answered with a distracted, "Hello?"

"It's me," he said without preamble, "Terry's missing."

Hey, you know what my second favorite thing in the universe is besides chocolate moose-tracks ice cream?Reviews fromyou guys! Make my day and write me afew words(good and bad ones are both fine!)


	4. Blame?

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Author's Note: **Thanks a bunch to all of you who wrote reviews! It really helps motivate me to keep writing, so I just want to give a big, gushy smile to all those reviewers out there! Oh yeah, there's a curse word in this chapter, but I censored it a little bit.

**Chapter Four:**

"I want a team in there dusting for prints. She never got home last night, but someone who wasn't supposed to be there could have visited. Look through her mail and her car, too – report anything that's out of the ordinary, no matter how minor. Get a team to patrol the streets from here to the apartment. Question the residents and the store owners, anyone who was around last night and who's a potential witness to what happened. We can't miss anything. We've got no leads to go on right now, so this has to be a thorough job," Don paused from his litany, shakily exhaling.

"Just make sure they do it right," he finished in a softer tone.

David nodded. "We've already got people combing her apartment. I told them to call if anything turns up."

Don ran his fingers through his hair, looking around the office for something to do. He felt tugged in all directions, as though he wanted to help, needed to in some way, but was unsure how to proceed. Charlie watched him silently from the corner.

"Agent Eppes?" Don turned and saw Brooks standing behind him, holding several manila folders in gloved hands.

"The search turned these up on East 81st Street in a trashcan. We though that you should have a look," he said, holding out the papers.

Don snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and took the folders from Brooks. He opened one and immediately recognized it as the photocopy of the Rutger's case files that Terry was going to take home to study. Slowly closing it again, he noticed several flaky, maroon-colored splotches on the front that were unmistakably dried blood.

"Good," he managed to get around his tightening throat, "Take it down to the Evidence Lab. See if they can get an I.D. on the sample."

Brooks nodded and left without another word. David placed a comforting hand on Don's shoulder, squeezing it as though to impart some extra inner strength to his friend. "I'm going to head over to her apartment to see if they've had any luck. See you guys later?"

Don nodded apathetically and watched him go. He and Charlie were now alone in the office, and he collapsed wearily into a chair, resting his head in his hands, palms pressed to his eyes, relieved that he no longer had to maintain a strong façade. The murder spree they had been working on had been postponed so the team could completely devote themselves to unraveling Terry's disappearance. Yesterday he would have given anything to be done with the case, but now…

"This is my fault," he said abruptly, not even bothering to lift his head, "I shouldn't have let her walk home alone."

There was silence for a moment, but then he heard Charlie's voice, soft and hesitant, "It wasn't your fault."

Don stood in a sudden burst of anger. "It was twenty blocks! Twenty fcking blocks, by herself, at night, in the middle of Los Angeles, and I let her go! I could have insisted on walking her home, made her drive with us, called her a cab – something! But I let her go! Don't even try telling me it wasn't my fault Charlie – I might as well have handed her over to those guys myself, for all the good I did!"

He stormed to the conference table, overturning chairs as he went, scattering papers, and finally picking up a coffee mug and hurling it against the far wall, where it shattered, staining the carpet a deep brown.

Don stood, quivering with anger and self-recrimination when he felt Charlie's hand drop lightly on his shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze.

"It wasn't your fault," he whispered.

The first thing Terry was aware of was the muffled ringing of her cell phone. She struggled to open her eyes but found that it barely made a difference; her surroundings were dark and empty, the only light coming from the seam under the room's door, where a thin band of light cast a faint glow onto the floor. Several feet away, she could barely make out the form of her crumpled coat, which she knew contained her cell phone in the right inside pocket. Trying to get to her knees, she raised her head from the floor and was instantly overcome with a wave of dizziness and nausea that forced her to collapse again.

_' Please, God, don't let the ringing stop. Don't let it stop,'_ she silently prayed, ready to try moving again.

It stopped ringing.

_ 'It's fine,' _she told herself, _'I just need to reach my jacket. If I can get to the phone, I can call Don or the office. They'll be able to help.'_

Propping herself up on her knees, she gritted her teeth and managed to roll into a sitting position, resting against the stucco wall. She winced as her head touched the wall; though her hands were bound in front of her with twine, she managed to reach up, gingerly touching the base of her neck. She could feel an ugly gash caked with dried blood; it seemed to have stopped bleeding, so she decided not to concern herself with it.

Terry forced her eyes to focus back on her jacket, which contained her only link to the outside. There were no windows in the room, so it was impossible to tell what time of day it was. With all luck, the others would realize she was missing and begin a search. Without some hints, however, they wouldn't have any idea where to begin; she didn't even know who her abductors were. Don and the team couldn't be expected to figure it out on their own.

The problem was the jacket seemed to be so far away, and her vision kept swimming in and out of focus. _'Probably a concussion. Just deal with it – I can't let a bump on the head stop me now. This could be my only chance,' _she thought.

She took a deep breath and doubled over in pain; the fight yesterday must have cracked a few ribs as well. She couldn't afford to worsen her condition, but she needed to reach the phone.

_ 'Okay,' _she told herself, _'On the count of three, I'll go for the coat. All right… one…two…'_

The room was suddenly flooded with light as the door on Terry's left swung open, hitting the wall with a bang. Squinting, she looked up at the doorway, swallowing her panic as a huge figure appeared, silhouetted against the light.

I'll update as soon as possible!


	5. First Contact

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Author's Note: **Again, I worship reviewers – thank you all! Yeah, so I'm putting off writing my English essay on Streetcar Named Desire to churn this out…oh well! Happy reading.

**Chapter Five:**

The man standing in the doorway stepped into the tiny room, reaching up to pull a chain hanging from the ceiling, turning on a single, naked light bulb and illuminating the room, which was really nothing more than a large closet. Terry immediately recognized him as the man who attacked her on the street, and with the added light, she could finally get a better look at him.

From her vantage point on the floor, she was again struck by how massive he was. His folded arms bulged with muscle and each ended in a hand that looked strong enough to snap her neck. Looking into his face, she was shocked at what she saw. Instead of a brutish, thug-like visage, his blue eyes burned with intelligence, his mouth quirking into a delighted half-smile as he watched Terry study him intently.

"What are you doing down there?" he asked in a patronizing voice that Terry immediately despised.

"What are you doing up there?" she countered, feeling her anger flaring within her.

He chuckled and casually leaned against the doorframe. "You _are_ an FBI agent, aren't you? Don't you know better than to go walking by yourself at night? Cities can be dangerous."

Refusing to be baited, Terry fixed him with a clinical and appraising stare. "Male, Caucasian, thirty to thirty-five years old, 6' 6" to 6' 8", larger physique…maybe 250 pounds…reasonably coherent…"

"Profiling me?" he asked with another grin.

"Of course," she replied, sizing him up again, "Oh yes, I forgot to mention your excruciating arrogance and a tendency toward egocentric behavior."

The smile on his face suddenly faded, and he stepped forward, backhanding her with an enormous fist. She fell to the ground again, landing on her cracked ribs, and she drew in an involuntary hiss of pain. Struggling back into a sitting position, she kept her face neutral, refusing to show him how much pain she was in.

The cheek where he'd hit her stung; reaching up her bound hands, she wiped at it, and her wrist came away bloody. The ring on his hand must have sliced her – she could feel the gash extending from the corner of her left eye toward her chin. She gave a silent prayer of thanks that the cut wasn't two millimeters more to the right and glared back at him defiantly.

"So where are your friends?" she asked, "There were at least two more of you last night."

His voice was now cold and hard, the edge of humor completely gone. "That's not your concern. Besides, I'm sure you know how these things work – I talk and you shut up."

As if on cue, Terry could hear the sounds of heavy footsteps ascending some unseen staircase, and two more men, both physically imposing but obviously deferential to her captor, appeared in the doorway.

He glanced at the pair. "Did you get a call from our friend?"

The man on the left nodded, long brown hair flapping against his forehead. "He said it's all going well on his end. The Feds are completely confused; they're in over their heads, and we've got them right where we want them."

The leader smiled, folding his arms comfortably against his chest. "Good. When are we expecting the next update?"

"He said he'd call tonight and tomorrow morning to keep us up to date on all the wonderfully excruciating details of the stupidity of casework." He nodded in the direction of Terry, "She finally woke up?"

The leader seemed content with the man's news and smiled down at Terry in a revoltingly slimy fashion. "Yup. She certainly likes to talk though, started going off on a spontaneous profile of me. Gotta love Uncle Sam for spending such a butt-load of money on training these guys—"

He was interrupted by the sudden ringing of a muffled cell phone. Terry's heart leapt into her throat as her stomach took a sudden plummet to the floor. She couldn't help flicking her terrified eyes toward her crumpled coat. Her captor followed her gaze and bent to pick up the coat, fishing through the pockets and folds until finding the ringing phone.

"You little bitch," he muttered softly, looking from the phone to Terry.

She met his gaze and said in a steady voice, "That's probably my friends looking for me. They know I'm missing, by now."

The third man, who had been silent up to that point, now starting speaking in a panicked, frantic manner. "She called the Feds, didn't she? The little bitch up and called her buddies at the FBI. We should just dump her somewhere and get out now—"

Terry struggled to keep a passive expression: at the moment she didn't know what would be worse – remaining where she was and staying alive or being taken elsewhere (possibly to be killed) but to be given the potential chance to escape.

The first man watched her silently, turning the phone over in his hands. "She didn't call them," he finally decided, "She was still pretty out of it when I got here. I think we'll be safe for now."

He reached up and shut off the light bulb again, slamming the door as he and the others left the closet. Plunged back into total darkness, Terry was left alone with her fears and prayers to wait for whatever came next.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Downstairs the three men sat in a sparse living room, darkened by the tightly drawn drapes across the windows. Sitting in a molded armchair, the leader lightly tossed the phone from one palm to the other, barely listening to the other two argue. He looked up only when he heard Dan calling his name, "Bill? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that this is just too good to pass up," he replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Think about it – this lets us get by all the bureaucratic crap we'd have to deal with if we called the office directly. We should go for it. What time is it?"

Dan glanced at his watch. "It's almost 11:00."

"We'll give them until one – let them sweat it out a little more. Negotiating might be a little easier if we get them desperate," Bill said.

"What do we do until then?"

Smiling, Bill settled back in his seat. "We wait."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Don Eppes hurried through the corridors of the FBI office building having just returned from the sweep of Terry's apartment with David. Agents were still working, but they had searched nearly every square inch of the apartment including the trash, her old mail, and the car. They dusted for finger prints on every flat surface and turned up nothing, leaving Don frustrated and panicky; he knew better than anyone that time was not on their side. They needed to find something…and soon.

He was paged back to the office while he and David were looking through the bedroom for the fourth unsuccessful time that afternoon. He prayed that something had turned up, a witness maybe, or a fingerprint, anything that would point them in the right direction. Rounding the corner, David had to catch his arm to keep him from skidding into Charlie who was also moving at breakneck speed.

"Geez, Charlie! What's the matter?"

"I was just coming to meet you guys. Brooks wants us in the evidence lab; they did the analysis on the folders they found," he panted.

Don nodded, steering Charlie back the way he'd come, weaving in and out of other agents. Charlie took the moment to ask, "Did you find anything?"

"No…she's just…" Don swallowed, not even bothering to finish, relieved they had arrived at the lab.

Brooks looked up from a microscope and nodded a hello, grabbing a chart from the desk before moving over to David and the Eppes brothers.

"We finished the work on the folders," he began. "The blood type's AB-, which is Terry's. It's a good chance it's hers, but they're running some DNA fingerprints on it to make sure. The only fingerprints that turned up on the folders were hers. Whoever threw them away must have gloves – they knew what they were doing."

Don rubbed his temples; they still had nothing to go on. No DNA, no prints, no fibers…it was the perfect crime. He knew Terry was running out of time, and the fact that he couldn't do anything about it was killing him.

His cell phone rung, and he dutifully dug it out of his pocket as Charlie slumped into a chair, head buried in his hands. "Hello?"

"Hello. It's Agent Eppes, isn't it?" a deep, unrecognizable voice responded.

Don immediately went on the alert. "Yes, who's this? How did you get this number?"

The voice chuckled in a calm, patronizing way. "Well, who I am doesn't really pertain to this conversation. All you need to know is that I have something you want, and you have something I want, and luckily for you I'm ready to offer you a deal. And as far as the number goes…I borrowed it from a close friend of yours."

"Terry," Don whispered.

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Cranking this one out practically killed me, and I really don't know why (except for the fact that I should have been doing AP review stuff…must have been the guilt!). Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll review!


	6. Demands

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Chapter Six:**

Don's grip on the cell phone tightened, and he noticed David glance up at the sound of Terry's name from the microscope slide he was holding. The man on the other end of the line chuckled, "Bingo. That's one point for the Feds. You've certainly got your deduction skills honed to a fine point today, Agent Eppes."

Don could feel the angry pounding of blood rushing through his eardrums. "Let me talk to her."

"Mmm…I don't think so," the voice replied, "You see, in case you haven't realized, you're not exactly in the position to make demands, and this conversation is going to go my way."

"Did you hurt her? Did you touch her?" Don shouted, barely noticing heads snap up all over the room, including Charlie's, who looked at him with wide, concerned eyes.

"Well, that's just the point…if everything goes the way I want it to, I won't have to do that…but that all depends on you and the cooperation of your buddies down at the Bureau. Now if this kind of cowboy-politics negotiation doesn't appeal to you, and you don't want to take me seriously, I can hang up the phone, blow a hole in her forehead right now, and leave you alone. It's no skin off my nose, and I'll just leave her in a ditch somewhere for you guys to find," he paused. "Would you like me to hang up?"

Don knew he was being manipulated, hated being jerked around by this bastard, but he could also tell that he was completely serious and probably quite capable of what he was threatening to do. Terry's life was his bargaining chip, and right now all bets were on the table; if he didn't like the cards, he could fold at any minute and leave the game. Don couldn't risk that, so he had no choice but to say, "No. What do you want?"

"It's pretty simple, really. I understand that you have a genius brother who's been working on a very interesting formula, something about that crime spree that's been going on," he continued.

This was just about the last thing that Don expected to hear. "And why is that so interesting to you?"

"Well, that's the trade. I get all of his work on the case – the formula, the scratch paper, the numbers – everything. If I get it – and I mean _all_ of it – you can have your friend back," he said, as calmly as if reporting the weather, "We'll call it a fair and even trade. But if you don't like it, I could end all of this right now with one bullet."

Don felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. What was so important about this formula? How could he risk handing it over to someone who sounded like a complete sociopath? How could he _not_ without signing Terry's death sentence?

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the man on the phone, "I'll let you think it over. Expect another call in an hour, so keep the line open. And don't do anything stupid, Agent Eppes…I'm just as good at this game as you are, and my stakes are not nearly as high as yours."

The dial tone suddenly came on, indicating that he terminated the conversation without waiting for a response from Don. He slowly closed the cell phone and glanced up from the desk surface that he had been staring at for the last two minutes. Everyone was watching him cautiously, David and Charlie correctly interpreting the horrified look on his face and waiting for him to give an explanation about the phone call.

"It was him," he said slowly, "He has her."

David and Charlie quickly crossed the room to join Don. "Did he say if she's okay? Did he make any demands?"

Don nodded, "He knows about Charlie's formula, the one he's been working on for the serial killer case. He told me that he wants the formula in exchange for Terry."

The reactions of the others looked just as puzzled and stunned as Don felt. Charlie touched his arm lightly, "But she's okay? They haven't hurt her?"

"He said she's fine for now, but I doubt his word is very trustworthy. He wants to trade, one for one, the formula for her life – he'll kill her if he doesn't get it."

"But how could he know?" David asked, "How could he have found out about the formula at all?"

This was bothering Don more than anything. "I'm not sure…but I don't think we can give it to him without completely blowing the confidentiality of the case and possibly endangering more people."

Charlie, whose eyes had become glazed with a curtain of deep thought, suddenly snapped out of his reverie, jumping up from the table. "What if these are the criminals? The guys that the formula is meant to catch?" His eyes flitted from Don to David excitedly, "Think about it – why else would they want it? They've been so careful not to leave any evidence, and now we have a way to catch them. If they get the formula, then we'll be back to square one, and they can get away without any chance of being caught."

It all made perfect sense, but Don was far from comforted by the idea of a lead like this. These guys were good, they were thorough, and they were completely without conscience. If the people who had Terry were really the ones from the crime spree, she was in the hands of several cold, calculating killers. If they didn't get their way, he had no doubt they would kill her.

"All right," he began, breathing deeply, "He said he'd be calling back in an hour, so we've got until then to figure something out."

He motioned Agent Brooks over to the table and quickly outlined the situation for him. "So how are we going to handle this?" Brooks asked, "They'll kill Agent Lake if we don't comply – these guys sounded pretty serious?"

"They're serious," Don affirmed, "But we can't risk handing over Charlie's work…it's our only key to finding them." He was suddenly struck with an idea that was so simple it might actually work. "Hey Charlie, how good are you at forgeries?"

Charlie's forehead quirked. "What do you mean?"

Don grinned. "We'll give them a fake formula, something else you've been working on that can pass for the one for the case. Use one of those unsolvable problems you're always working on. You can make a copy of your work, and we'll give them that formula instead!"

"I've got one we can use. It's at home, but I could have it ready by the end of the day," he said, his face lighting up.

"Get started on it." Charlie burst from the room, excited to finally be able to help. "David, Brooks – we've only got an hour. I want my cell phone hooked up to a tape recorder and a tracer. I want to be ready when these guys call next."

David took the cell phone, and Brooks gathered up the blood sample results as they headed off down the hall. Don started barking orders to the others in the room, praying hopefully that Terry would soon safely be back with them.

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I'll update ASAP, but I have a performance this week, so that means many long hours of dress rehearsal. I promise to try my best!


	7. Compromise

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Chapter Seven:**

Don looked at his watch – they had exactly three minutes before their next call from Terry's captors. David and Brooks were both nearby, pacing anxiously during the final minutes of the countdown. The cell phone was hooked up to a tape recorder, speaker, tracer, and voice processor, an entire table sagging under the weight of the machinery. Don was confident that they wouldn't miss anything during this call; this man's voice was their only evidence against him, the only way to get an identity or profile.

Charlie was still at home copying the work of one of his equations to use as their decoy. The work was going to take hours if it was going to be at all convincing, so the next phone call was going to be one of critical negotiation. Don only hoped that the caller would be willing to compromise and give him that time – if not, things could get difficult. At this point, he couldn't afford to piss this guy off without putting Terry into even more danger.

The cell phone suddenly rang, and Don nodded to the technician who pressed the record button on the recorder and started the tracing program. The room fell silent as everyone focused on the ringing phone, and Don pressed the speaker button.

"Agent Eppes, are you ready to talk?" He felt his stomach tighten as the man's slimy voice filled the room.

"Yes. I'm prepared to negotiate for Agent Lake's life, but I can't give you the formula right now," he said.

"Well, then I'm afraid that's not good enough," he heard, "I've told you the conditions – I get the formula immediately, and you can have your agent back. If you don't have the formula for me, then we don't have anything to discuss…and I have a gun to go load."

It was time to make his move. "Wait, that's not what I meant. I'm working on getting you the formula, but I need clearance from some upper level Bureau officers – they won't let me give it to you without it. We need more time."

He held his breath and glanced at David who was staring apprehensively at the tracing machine. _'Thirty seconds,'_ he mouthed. They had to keep him on the line for another half minute and they'd have a number; Don had to hold him until then.

"How long will this clearance take?" the voice finally responded.

"No later than tomorrow morning – they promised to push it through as soon as possible. But that's where you come in. You need to give us the time to get this done; I want your word that Terry will be safe until then."

"The trade still stands – I get what I want, you can have her back. Now, I want you to listen very closely Agent Eppes: tomorrow morning at 10:00, I expect all of the work for the formula to be left inside the phone booth on East Avenue, and all of your men have to be out of there by 10:15. Don't even try setting up a surveillance team – if there's one camera, one agent within a block of that phone, I'll kill her. If there's one paper missing from your brother's work, her brains will be splattered all over the sidewalk. Don't doubt that for a minute."

"Trust me, I believe you," Don said, "Now, I want to talk to her. I want to know she's okay."

"She's fine. You can see her tomorrow…that's _if _we get what we want."

"How do I know you haven't already killed her? I want to talk to Agent Lake right now!" Don demanded.

The voice issuing from the speaker remained as irritatingly calm as ever, barely acknowledging Eppes' request, "I'm afraid you're just going to have to trust me that she's still alive – besides, the more you keep talking, the more convinced I become that I don't really need this whole deal to begin with. Would you like to scrap it right now?"

"No," Don gritted his teeth, "When do we get Terry back?"

"Provided the formula is there by 10:00, and I approve of everything you've given me, you can have her back tomorrow afternoon. I'll drop her off somewhere close by – and don't even think about asking me where. I expect a clean get away, with no Feds or police officers around. All you have to worry about is having the formula in that phone booth by 10:00 tomorrow morning. And no tricks, Agent Eppes, or she's dead."

The cell phone signal went dead as the man hung up the phone. Don immediately rushed over to David, who was waiting by the tracer. "Was he on the line long enough? Do we have a number?"

David nodded, "Yeah, just long enough. The number should be coming right about…now." The computer screen lit up with a phone number that David printed off.

"All right!" David clapped Brooks on the shoulder, "Let's see if we can get an address and a name to go with that number. Get it down to –"

"Don't bother," Don looked up from the printed sheet he was holding, "It's Terry's number. He used her cell phone." He stared at the paper, shoulders slumping, until he angrily crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the trash.

Brooks turned morosely to the voice processor, leaning over the technician's shoulder who was carefully analyzing and dissecting the phone conversation. David nodded at Don, who silently transferred temporary team command to his friend as he gathered his things to go home and check on Charlie's progress. Don picked up one of the taped copies of the conversation and left without another word. Now, Terry's life depended on Charlie's forged formula, so he needed to make sure it was convincing and believable. With all luck, this nightmare would be over by this time tomorrow afternoon, but, he thought worriedly, luck didn't seem to be on their side.

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Terry shifted uncomfortably on the floor where she was dozing. Every position was painful – her ribs hurt so badly it was difficult to breathe. She had no idea how long she had been trapped in the tiny closet, but time certainly seemed to pass very slowly in the complete darkness of the little room. She had tried opening the closet door, but it was locked from the outside, meaning she was truly trapped and at the mercy of her captors. At first, she had tried to stay awake and alert, listening to the muffled conversations from downstairs, but she got little out of this. Her cell phone was gone too, so any information she managed to glean from them would be little help. In the end, she decided to rest, finally falling into an exhausted, restless sleep on the closet floor.

Now, probably hours later, she awoke feeling stiff and groggy, her stomach pinched with hunger. Opening her eyes, she blinked, surprised at the lightened room. She looked up and saw her captor standing above her, leaning against a stucco wall, staring blandly at her. Terry struggled to sit up, and her head pounded in protest, waves of dizziness washing over her; the concussion must have been worse than she'd first suspected.

"What do you want?" she asked him bitterly.

"Watching you," he said with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes, "Aren't you wondering why I haven't killed you yet?"

She shook her head. "You must want something. You're using me as some sort of…hostage or bargaining chip. If you don't keep me alive, you'll lose your advantage."

"Hmm," he leaned closer to her, "And are you wondering why I haven't raped you yet?"

Terry felt her throat involuntarily tighten, but she willed herself to keep her air of clinical detachment. "Not really. Again, you can't afford to compromise your only token to getting what you want, and I could tell right away that you aren't a rapist. You do love control, but you aren't the type to sexually assault someone – you're much cleaner cut than that."

"Well, thank you very much, Ms. Lake," he said, smiling broadly.

"That wasn't a compliment," she shot back, "I was only saying that instead of being a bastard who's a rapist, you're only a bastard who's arrogant enough to think that he can get whatever he wants through threats and over handed hostage negotiations."

He was silent, though she could see a muscle working in his jaw. "What _do_ you want, anyway? If you took the time and effort to kidnap me, I'd think you'd realize that I have nothing of value to you."

This provoked a reaction from him, "Now who's being arrogant? This doesn't have anything to do with _you_, you little bitch. This goes much further than you – you just happened to be a handy means to achieve our end."

"And what would that be?"

"Insurance," he smiled, "My friends and I are _very_ interested in that formula that your partner has his brother working on. We've been working carefully for three months, not slipping up once, and your genius has to come along and invent a way to find us. We couldn't afford that."

Terry was shocked; this was the man who had been robbing and killing families without consequence for the past three months and here he was in another position to escape, this time stealing the FBI's only means of catching him as well. But she knew Don – he would never give in to this man's threats, and she didn't expect him to bargain with a conscience-less terrorist for her life.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," she said, "But Agent Eppes wouldn't negotiate with a criminal. You'll never get him to give you that formula…and he knows that I don't expect him to."

"Obviously you don't know your partner as well as you thought. I've already spoken with him, and he's assured me that we have the full cooperation of him and the entire Bureau. I just needed to make sure he understood I had no qualms about a hole through that pretty forehead of yours," he said, fingering the handgun on his belt.

Terry couldn't believe what he was telling her. She knew that Don would never give him the formula – the ramifications of such an action could be disastrous. He must have a plan up his sleeve, and her captor's cooperation obviously depended on his falling for Don's trick; she kept her face passive.

He gave her another sadistic grin and left, slamming the closet door and plunging her back into complete darkness. Terry groaned shakily and sagged against the wall. _'Don,'_ she thought, _'I sure hope that your plan is a good one. I think we're going to need it.'_

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Thanks a bunch for reading! Now how about hitting that nice, shiny "review" button? Come on, all the cool kids are doing it!


	8. No Mistakes

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Author's Note: **Sorry that this one was so long coming. I didn't forget about you, but time definitely wasn't on my side this week! (I'm trying out some Charlie angst here per request.)

**Chapter Eight:**

Don slammed the door of the black SUV shut, blinking against the bright sunshine of the early afternoon. He had been working for hours at the FBI office and hadn't realized it was past 2:00 by the time Terry's captors had called for a second time. It was difficult to tell how the last phone call had gone – the man he had spoken to was intelligent and completely without conscience. He knew that getting Terry back alive and safely was now dependent on Charlie's forged formula, and he decided to check up on his brother's progress.

Entering the kitchen he threw his keys on the counter and walked through to the dining room, where Charlie could often be seen buried in papers and textbooks. He was nowhere in sight. "Charlie? Charlie are you in here?" he called.

"Donny?" he heard a voice answer from upstairs. He heard his father coming down the stairs and went out to meet him in the foyer.

"Hey, Dad. Have you seen Charlie lately?"

"Yeah…I think he went out to the shed. He said he had a lot of work to do," Alan Eppes' brow furrowed in puzzlement, "Why? Is something the matter with him?"

Don sighed heavily, finding he didn't want to explain what had happened to his father, not wanting him to worry about a situation that he couldn't help with. "No, nothing's wrong with Charlie…I just asked him for some help with a case, and I wanted to know if he made any progress."

Alan still looked interested. "Is this the crime spree you were talking about the other night? Did Charlie manage to get a formula ready to catch the criminals?"

"Not exactly," he replied, hesitatingly. Looking into his father's face, he suddenly couldn't really understand why he didn't want to tell him what happened – he cared about Terry, too, and he had as much right to know as anyone.

Don sat on the bottom step, avoiding his father's eyes. "Terry was kidnapped sometime last night. The guys who have her called the office this morning. They want to trade Charlie's formula for her life."

"You didn't give it to them?" Alan asked, sitting beside Don.

"No, of course not! We're pretty sure the guys who have her are the ones that are involved with the crime spree. They won't hesitate to kill her if they don't get what they want."

Alan put a hand on Don's shoulder. "How are you taking it?"

"How do you think I'm taking it? This would never have happened if I hadn't been so stupid and let her go home alone." Seeing his father's confused face, he explained, "Terry's car broke down, and I let her walk home by herself; she was taken right off the street."

Feeling self-hatred boil up inside himself again, he put his head in his hands, angry and frustrated. He heard Alan's voice again, "Terry's strong and smart. She'll make it, but she'll need you doing the best you can from here, so you're doing her no favors when you're like this. I know she wouldn't want you to blame yourself."

Don felt that pity or comfort was the last thing he deserved at that point and stood purposefully. "You said that Charlie went out to the shed?"

"Yeah. What does he have to do with this?"

"We can't risk giving away Charlie's formula, so we're going to try to use a forged copy of his equations in exchange for Terry. The man who called wants it ready by tomorrow morning, so it's going to have to be a convincing lie," Don said.

Alan stared up at his son from the steps. "That's a lot of responsibility to put on his shoulders. How will he feel if it doesn't work, and Terry doesn't make it –"

"She will!" Don flared, "We'll get her back, and everything will be fine! Charlie wanted to do this, he _wanted_ to help, and I wasn't about to turn down the only plan we had!"

"You know that Charlie could never say no to you, Donny," Alan shot back.

"I didn't ask for this to happen, Dad…and this may be the only chance we have to get her back." Alan watched him silently. "I'm going to talk to Charlie."

Without waiting for another accusatory remark from his father, Don slammed through the house to the kitchen door, crossing the sunny, greened lawn to the shed in the backyard. He creaked open the door and saw Charlie's usual blackboards pinned up around the walls. Bits of chalk littered the wooden floor, and wads of crumpled paper were strewn about the small desk and chair where Charlie was sitting hunched over a pad, carefully copying numbers from one of the enormous chalkboards. Don watched him for a moment, amazed at his complete absorption in his work, and finally closed the shed door. Charlie's head snapped up at the sudden noise.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Don said.

"That's okay. I could use a break." Charlie leaned back in his chair, stretching wearily.

Don took the seat next to Charlie and glanced uncomprehendingly at the mathematics around the room. "How's it been going?"

"Well, I've gotten a lot of the copying done. I picked one of these unsolvable postulates that emphasizes the basis of prime numbers in relation to probability theory…" he trailed off, seeing Don's glazed expression. "But that's not really important. It should work well enough for our purposes. Did they call you back at the office after I left?"

"Yeah. I managed to buy us some time for you to work – we have until 10:00 tomorrow morning, and if he's happy with the formula, we can have Terry back. I have a tape of the conversation – do you want to listen to it?" he asked.

Charlie nodded, and Don took the small tape recorder from the pocket of his jacket, rewinding the tape and pushing the play button. Hearing the man's cold, arrogant voice again was enough to turn his stomach, but he forced himself to listen to the recording in silence. He heard the familiar ultimatum, "_If there's one paper missing from your brother's work, her brains will be splattered all over the sidewalk," _and closed his eyes in disgust. When the recording ended, Don looked up at Charlie and was horrified to see that his brother was staring down at the recorder, his eyes huge and round, and his face a ghostly pale sheen of white.

"Are you okay?" he asked, putting a concerned hand on his brother's elbow.

Charlie's stare flickered from the recorder to Don, his eyes filled with fear and anguish. "So they're serious? They're really going to kill Terry if they don't believe the formula?"

Don slowly nodded, and Charlie stood anxiously, collecting the papers around the table in nervous, twitchy movements looking uncharacteristically shaken. Don could hear snippets of the words he was muttering under his breath, "…all wrong…won't work…use another one, need another one…so stupid…"

"Charlie, what are you doing?" He continued to compulsively straighten his papers, mumbling to himself without regard for Don. "Charlie, stop it!" He moved to the blackboard, taking up an eraser and eliminating several figures from the mess of scribbled formulas.

"Charlie!" Don shouted, violently standing from the table. Charlie froze, eraser in hand, breathing in small hiccupped gasps. "What's wrong?"

He watched Charlie's hands move in vague circles, his eyes darting from the blackboard to the pile of papers on the desk to the tiny voice recorder. "It won't work, I know it won't work. This is all wrong," he said, gesturing to the papers, "I'm going to make a mistake, and he'll see it, and he'll kill her. And it'll be all my fault because I messed up. I need to fix it, I need to…I just need to start over."

Don's mind instantly flashed back to the conversation he had had with his father; the day wasn't even over, and Charlie was already stewing in self-recrimination. He moved quickly to his brother, putting a comforting arm around him. "Charlie, you're fine. The work you're doing is great – you can do this, but you need to stop doubting yourself first. This _will _work."

Charlie turned his fear-filled gaze to Don, shaking with emotion. "But what if it doesn't? What if I make a mistake and they kill her? It's my fault; it'll be all my fault!"

"You won't make a mistake," Don said with a confidence he didn't entirely feel, taking hold of his brother's shoulders and turning him gently. "We'll get her back…but I'm counting on you to help us. Terry needs you doing the best you can. Can you do that?"

Charlie slowly nodded, Don's plea for help giving him more courage than anything else could have. "We've got until 10:00 tomorrow, right?" He set his jaw and picked up one of the fallen pencils from the shed floor. "I've still got a lot of work to do."

Don gave his brother a grateful smile, squeezing his shoulder in thanks. He stuffed the tape recorder back in his pocket and headed for the shed door to allow his brother some privacy and peace to finish his work. Throwing a last backward glance over his shoulder, he saw Charlie already turned to the blackboard, dutifully replacing some of the numbers he had erased from the formula in his panic. He carefully closed the squeaking door and began his walk back to the house, preparing himself for the hours of logistics work for the morning's formula drop-off that he had ahead of him. In his opinion, tomorrow couldn't come any sooner.

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Any good? Please let me know what you think (I'd be eternally grateful!).


	9. Wait for the Dawn

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Chapter Nine:**

Don dutifully rewound the tape of the afternoon's phone call for the twentieth time, ready to listen to it again in hopes of catching something that he'd missed, some clue as to identity or weakness. He was doubtful that this time would reveal anything different, but he was unwilling to give up hope. The afternoon had been split between analysis of the tape and long, bureaucratic phone conversations with the office, trying to configure the drop-off schedule for the formula the next morning. He and the team were finally able to convince the office director that Terry's life depended on complete accordance with her captors' instructions – they couldn't risk surveillance or stationing undercover agents.

Charlie was still out in the shed perfecting his forged copy of the formula. Don had gone out to see him only once to bring him a tuna sandwich for dinner, a visit which was barely acknowledged by his work-consumed brother. Charlie seemed to be attacking the problem with an intense and renewed energy, refusing to stop for any interruption. It was too soon for him to be overly concerned, but he hoped that his brother would be able to separate himself from his work when it came time to trade – he didn't want Charlie blaming himself if it failed.

He was about to push the recorder's play button again when he heard the kitchen door softly open and close and the quiet, familiar patter of Charlie's footsteps against the wood floor. Charlie suddenly appeared in the dining room entrance holding a sheaf of papers and looking exhausted but satisfied, smudges of chalk visible on his cheeks and clothing.

Collapsing into a nearby chair, he pushed the stack of papers toward Don with a sigh. "I think I'm finished."

Don nodded and thumbed through the manuscript, not understanding any of the numbers but fully appreciating the immense work and time involved on behalf of Charlie. "This looks good. Did you manage to take a break and eat that sandwich I brought you?"

Charlie glanced up at him and asked in a bewildered voice, "You brought me a sandwich?"

Don couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, but that was about…" He checked his watch, shocked that it was already 11:45. "Five hours ago. Are you hungry?"

"No, not really. I'm mostly just tired. You managed to get everything coordinated for tomorrow?" Seeing Don's nod, he continued with a set expression, "I'm coming tomorrow. I want to be there for whatever happens."

His older-brother mentality suddenly kicking in, Don shook his head in immediate denial of the request. "Charlie, you've done enough. This whole situation could turn out very badly." He swallowed at the sudden image of Terry being brutalized by several undefined male figures and forced himself to focus on his brother. "We're going to do everything we can to get her back, and you've already helped out more than anyone could ask."

"Exactly. My formula is what started this whole thing, and my work will get her back. I need to be there to see this whole thing through."

"You just made my point, Charlie. What if this doesn't work? You're already too close to this case, and I don't want you blaming yourself if this doesn't go the way we want it to."

Charlie stared at him with a disbelieving expression. "_I'm_ too close to this case! Listen to yourself – you're hardly one to talk! Terry is your partner, she's one of your best friends – you two dated at the Academy for God's sake! If anyone's too self-involved with this case, it's you!"

"It's not the same at all, Charlie! I am a trained FBI agent, and I know how to handle myself. Just because Terry is involved in this doesn't mean that I can't stay impartial."

"You want to bet? I heard you when that guy called the office – you practically lost it, and now you say you can handle yourself. You _are _emotionally involved, but if you want to keep telling yourself that you're not, I won't question it. I _am_ coming with you tomorrow, and I dare you to say that I'm closer to this case than you are – you'll just be lying to yourself," Charlie finished, eyes burning with barely contained emotion.

Don glared at Charlie, not wanting to admit the truth in his brother's claims. He knew that Terry's disappearance was getting to him, throwing him off balance, and making him edgy, but he believed admitting it was the first step to succumbing to hopelessness. He stood from the table and swiped up the recorder in one fluid motion. "Fine. I'm going home," he said, "If you want to come that badly, I'll pick you up tomorrow, but you'd better make sure Dad knows this was your idea."

He stormed to the door, barely acknowledging Charlie's nod. He seethed all the way to his apartment, knowing that Charlie had him pinned and hating himself for allowing his emotions to get the best of him when he most needed his control.

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_It was late, right after one of their movie nights. Don liked to spend time with the team after long, hard cases just having fun without worrying about pressures or time crunches. He and Charlie had hosted the last one at the Eppes' house. Larry, David, and Terry had all been there, all thankful for a change of pace and an opportunity to let their hair down, so to speak. The only rule to the movie nights was no office clothing or discussion was allowed, and everyone had to bring their favorite junk food. Don and Charlie provided the beer, soda, and the movie, which had been "Finding Nemo." Charlie insisted that Disney movies had a certain calming effect on the psyche, so they all went along with it good-naturedly. It turned out to be a success, and the entire team enjoyed themselves immensely, especially Don, who felt that he never got to spend any quality time with his friends outside of the office._

_After the movie, they all helped clean up the popcorn-littered living room, and David and Larry said their goodnights. Charlie headed back inside to prepare his lecture for the next day while Don and Terry relaxed on the porch swing outside. It was a clear night, and as the swing gently rocked, they watched the stars and chatted quietly about nothing in particular. As they sat, the night air grew chillier, and Terry drew up to him, snuggling closer, and resting her head against his chest. He put a companionable arm around her shoulder, stroking her hair as they talked. Don closed his eyes in relaxed bliss, savoring the time he could spend with his friend._

_Suddenly, he heard a shot, a loud, harsh bang that caused his eyes to snap open. He felt his chest and shoulder suddenly grow warm, wet, and sticky, and the comforting weight of Terry's head lolled forward. Sitting up, he saw his shirt was covered in a bloody pulp of brain and bone fragments, and Terry slumped to the ground as though boneless. His heart racing in his chest, Don turned her over only to see her lifeless ashen face staring back up at him. Looking around in desperation and panic, he could see the dark silhouette of a tall, imposing, and unfamiliar man standing at the end of the porch, a smoking pistol dangling from his right hand. As he watched in a state of shock, the man unflinchingly raised the pistol again, aiming it at Don, and fired._

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Don sat up in bed, jerked awake from his nightmare, and finding himself shaky, covered in a cold sweat. Looking around his darkened bedroom, he couldn't stop the images of his terrifying dream from stealing back into his mind. He glanced over at his alarm clock – 3:47. Padding from his bed to the bathroom, he switched on the light and squinted against the sudden, powerful glare. He doused his face in cold water, rubbing his eyes as though to erase the memory of such a powerful dream. Don could feel himself physically trembling from the intensity of the dream. He didn't believe in precognition or foreshadowing of the future, but seeing Terry gunned down right in front of him was horribly unsettling to say the least.

Forcing himself back to bed, he rested his head on the pillows with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling and finding himself involuntarily turning over the images of his dead partner in his head. There were only six hours left until the drop-off, and Don found himself finally considering the possibility that his idea wouldn't work. The image of Terry lying dead in his arms flashed through his mind, and he felt pinpricks of tears sting his eyes. Blinking them away defiantly, he steeled himself for the coming day, refusing to acknowledge the reality that Terry could be dead by this time tomorrow. He rolled over, staring at the alarm clock, watching the minutes roll by and praying for the dawn.

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I've never written a dream sequence or anything, so I don't know if it was any good. Comments?


	10. Strike One

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Author's Note: **Yes! Just took my AP Statistics exam this afternoon – one down, three to go! Big-time thank you's, hugs, kisses, and chocolate pudding to all of you who sent reviews. They really helped me cope with the stress and bad stuff that's been happening this week. Merci!

**Chapter Ten:**

Don barely offered a hint of acknowledgement when Charlie got into the car the next morning, his stack of papers neatly tucked under one arm. He wasn't exactly angry about their argument the night before, but he didn't want to chance igniting it all over again. Thankfully, he hadn't heard from his father, telling him off for getting his brother too involved with the case, so he presumed that Charlie had made it clear the decision to come to the office had been his idea.

Much of the drive passed in silence, but halfway to the office he heard Charlie say in a hesitant voice, "Don…I'm sorry about what I said last night. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything."

Though discussing their conversation was the last thing he wanted to do, Don was still curious about the semantics of his brother's apology. "Charlie, you didn't _accuse _me of anything."

"Yes, I did!" Charlie insisted, "I know how important your self-control is to you – your ability to handle whatever happens is one of your best qualities...I know I've always envied it," Don glanced at him in surprise. "And last night I accused you of losing that part of yourself. And that was wrong. I know that you're too much of an FBI agent and too much of a collected person to lose yourself like that…so I'm sorry."

Don nodded and heard himself respond, "You were right though. This _is _getting to me…it's just so damn frustrating to have this situation completely out of your control!" He gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white. "It's bad enough when it's a regular case, but when it's someone you know, someone you…someone you care about…it's hard not to get bogged down. I just feel like there's something I should have done, something I'm missing, and it's frustrating the hell out of me! So, I'm sorry about last night, too."

Charlie squeezed his elbow sympathetically. "Don't worry about it. With any luck, this will all be over in a few hours, and we'll have Terry back. We just need to see it through to the end."

Don glanced over at the pile of papers on Charlie's lap, the key to this whole problem. He offered up a silent prayer as he saw the FBI office building appear at the end of the street. _'Please, God, let this be over soon. Let it be over.'_

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While Charlie stayed back at the office to work on the real formula with Agent Brooks and the others, Don and David decided to ride over to East Avenue to oversee the phone booth drop-off of the forgery. Squinting against the bright sunshine, he watched David and Agent Umbridge carefully secure the papers inside the phone booth per the instructions of Terry's kidnapper. The formula was neatly packaged in a brown cardboard box, wired shut, and taped underneath the receiving box of the phone – all that was needed was the recipient to arrive.

Don glanced anxiously down at his watch – 10:06. They had to be out of there by 10:15 or risk their counterparts getting impatient and following through with Terry's death sentence. "You about done over here, David?"

He looked up from securing the last piece of tape and snapped off the rubber gloves he was wearing. "We're finished. Are we still good on time?"

"We should start clearing out – we've only got nine minutes to go. You're sure that Assistant Director Tursack didn't try to mount a surveillance team around here?" Don asked.

"No, I explained the whole situation to him and had him listen to the taped conversation. He wants this to work as much as we do, and he was willing to let go of standard procedure just this once," David replied.

Don cracked a relieved smile, thankful for that bit of good news. "Let's start packing up. We should head back to the office and sit it out – it's too dangerous to Terry to be around here."

They headed to one of the parked government-issue cars waiting by the curb, David issuing clean-up and evacuation orders to the other officers over his shoulder as they went. Don allowed the other cars to leave first, wanting to ensure that the scene was perfectly set for the arrival of their mysterious, malevolent caller. Slamming the car door shut, he cast one final glance over at the phone booth. _'We've done all we can for now. Time to play the waiting game,' _he thought.

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When Terry opened her eyes from her fitful, restless nap, she was disgusted to find she was being watched again, though the eyes that peered at her were not cold and blue but a muddy, depthless brown color. She recognized the man seated in front of her on an upside-down bucket as her captor's accomplice who had been nervous and twitchy, completely losing it when her cell phone had rung. His mop of dirty-blond corkscrew hair lay in a greasy mat on top of his head, and he had a 9 mm revolver in his lap which he fingered with a luxurious, caressing stroke that Terry found extremely unsettling. The empty, lopsided grin on his face was oddly detached as though he was laughing at a vulgar joke he couldn't quite remember – Terry immediately hated him.

"Where did your friend go?" she boldly asked him.

"Out. He had some dealings with your FBI friends, but you shouldn't worry about that," he replied.

Terry bit her lip in frustration – she wished she understood what was going on at Don's end because information was tough to come by in her present situation. There was no use trying to figure out how he was going to keep the formula from these guys, so she decided to focus on her conversation with the mousy, lumpish man in front of her. "And why shouldn't I worry about it? It concerns me, and I have a right to know what's going on."

At this point his grin stretched even wider. "Well, I just thought we could have some time on our own…just you and me. We haven't gotten to know each other that well, and maybe we should start." He edged closer to her, leaning forward so his face was only inches from hers.

Terry swallowed her fear, defiantly staring back into his emotionless eyes. His gaze fell from her face and roamed the lines of her body in a slow and deliberate manner that made her feel dirty. Keeping one hand on the revolver cradled in his lap, she saw the other one extend clumsily toward her chest, brushing against her breasts so that she drew away in uncontrolled revulsion.

Suddenly and mercifully she heard the sharp ringing of a cell phone coming from the man's jacket pocket, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief as he leaned back again, digging into his pockets to withdraw the phone.

"Hello? Yeah, it's me…what's going on down there?" Terry watched his apathetic and pasty face suddenly contort with a mixture of emotion, from disbelief to shock to anger. She watched in interest and concern as he stood, hoisting his revolver, and walk out of the tiny closet in long, rushed strides, not even bothering to shut the door behind him. She could hear him descending the stairs while still talking loudly on the phone in angry, incessant screeches of epithets.

The conversation obviously drew to a close when she no longer heard him yelling in panicky phrases into the phone. She could hear the distinct noise of long, heavy strides pacing the room below her, and she wondered what the news could have been that upset him so badly.

It must have been several minutes later when she heard a door downstairs open and close, two more voices suddenly permeating the atmosphere. At first she heard a triumphant yell from a deeply masculine voice that she recognized as her primary captor, which was quickly subdued by quieter, insistent tones from the man whom she had met a few minutes ago. Though at first she couldn't exactly hear what they were saying, the conversation quickly escalated until all three men were speaking in loud shouts, arguing in profane, explicit tones.

"I'm just telling you what he said!" she heard the blond man yell angrily.

"Didn't those goddam Feds get the message?" her captor shot back.

"I told you, he didn't say what happened!"

Terry heard a third voice say, "Eppes just screwed himself – he just killed the bitch himself! He can put that on his permanent f#cking record!"

There was a pause in which she could hear a string of profanities, but then, her heart thudding in her chest, she heard the leader say in a loud but calmer voice, "We need that formula. We'll call him again – we'll make sure he understands that this time we mean business."

The other two voices immediately chimed in with loud protestation, but she already heard heavy footsteps banging up the steps and down the hall until her enormous kidnapper loomed in the doorway. He had no trace of humor in his face as he stared coldly down at her. "Your partner isn't very smart, is he Agent Lake?"

"He was obviously smart enough not to deal with you," she shot back, glaring at him. "He'll never negotiate with you – you should give this up while you're still free."

He shook his head, pulling what she recognized to be her cell phone from his pocket and brushing his hand lightly against his revolver holstered to his belt. "He just needs a little motivation," he said, speed-dialing Don's number. As she watched him from the floor, he glanced down at his holstered gun and unbuckled it, casually tapping the butt of it against his palm and carelessly flicking specks of dirt from its cold, black surface.

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The office room was tense and nervous, everyone who had been helping with Terry's disappearance crowded into the space waiting for news from her captors. David stood in a corner, arms folded and throwing agitated glances toward the cell phone that was hooked up to the usual analysis equipment. Charlie had gone a pasty white color and was curled up on the couch, hands covering his eyes as he whispered to himself. For his part, Don was staring at the phone in anticipation of the next call, fingers nervously drumming the table in front of him as a quiet mantra in his head cycled through, assuring him that everything would be fine.

Suddenly, the phone rang, startling everyone in the office and casting a silent pall over all of those gathered. Don stood, rushing to the phone, and nodded at David who started the voice recording system and speaker as Don pushed the answer button.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Agent Eppes," he heard the familiar voice affirm.

Continuing in a professional, no-nonsense tone, Don began to speak, "We've given you the formula that you asked for, and now I ask that you keep your end of the bargain. We demand that you return Agent Lake to us immediately in return for—"

"That wasn't very smart, Eppes," the voice countered, an edge of unrestrained hostility easily detected over the cell phone's tinny speaker, "You know as well as I do that that formula was a fake. Don't bullshit me, don't even try. You just killed your own partner…how do you feel now?"

Don felt his hope evaporate with that single sentence.

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Thanks bunches for reading! Hope you liked it – and I promise to update ASAP!


	11. Second Chance

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Chapter Eleven:**

Don stared at the cell phone, hardly knowing what to expect next. Charlie, silent and looking physically revolted, trembled from his vantage point on the sofa. David, standing across the table from Don, silently motioned for him to keep talking, realizing that it was time for some fast-paced negotiation.

Don barely needed that encouragement to begin frantically talking, thinking rapidly on his feet. "Please, you need to understand – it's not that easy to just hand over evidence. We need to go through procedures, adhere to the Bureau's rules. If you want the formula, you need to give us another chance – killing Agent Lake isn't the answer to getting what you want."

"The way I see it, I gave you a chance and you threw it away. I'm the one who's in control here, and I have plenty of options open to me – and you have no choice but to go along with what I say," he heard the voice threaten. "And if I feel like braining your friend, I can do it any time I want."

Desperately trying to maintain a calm, steady voice, Don asked him again, "Just let me talk to her. I need to know she's all right before I negotiate with you any more."

He waited with baited breath for the response, hoping against hope that he would consent to his plea. Finally, after what seemed like ages, the voice came back on the line. "Yeah, you know what…I think that I might just let you do that. She's been asking about you anyway – I'm sure she'll want to hear all about what a great job you're doing keeping her alive."

Don ignored the insult, banking instead on the opportunity to finally be able to talk to Terry for the first time since this whole situation started. He could feel the tension exuding from everyone in the room as they waited to hear their friend. He suddenly started when he heard her voice from the speakers; she sounded strong and confident, but Don knew her too well to be fooled. He could hear the slight quiver of fear in her voice as she asked, "Don?"

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Terry had listened with bubbling fear and anger as her captor had spoken with Don. Though she could only hear one end of the conversation, she was sure that things weren't going well down at the office, though she refused to give up hope that her team would find her. She prayed that Don wouldn't try to do anything illegal to appeal to the man's ultimatums, but the situation sounded more critical the longer the man spoke. At one point, when he voiced his ability to kill her whenever he pleased, Terry noticed that his hand clenched even tighter around his revolver, and she felt an uncontrollable shiver pass through her.

Suddenly, he glanced down at Terry with a thoughtful, appraising look. "Yeah, you know what, "he said slowly, "I think that I might just let you do that. She's been asking about you anyway – I'm sure she'll want to hear all about what a great job you're doing keeping her alive."

He bent down toward her, placing his revolver far out of her reach, and held the cell-phone to her ear. Surprised that he was giving her the opportunity to speak, she asked in what she hoped was a strong voice, "Don?"

Her partner's voice, his relief painfully obvious, calmed her like nothing else could at that point. "Terry – are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

She chose to ignore the deep cut on her cheek and throbbing pain in her ribs. Don sounded as though he could use some reassurance. "I'm fine. Don, you aren't going to give them the formula, are you?"

"I don't know what else to do – Charlie's forgery didn't work, and I don't know how else we're going to get you back. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I told you I'm okay." Terry flicked her eyes up to her captor, who was kneeling next to her holding the phone and fixing her with an intense, cold gaze. She decided to throw all caution to the winds and suddenly said, "Don, don't deal with him. Please, whatever you do, don't negotiate with him. He's too dangerous to—"

The phone was suddenly yanked away from her ear as her captor stood, cuffing her viciously on the head as he went. She saw his hand clench around his revolver, and she hoped that Don would listen to her warnings.

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"Terry? Terry!" Don yelled, panicking as her voice suddenly disappeared from the phone line mid-sentence.

"Agent Eppes," the familiar masculine voice said, returning Don's call to his partner. "I didn't really like the way that conversation was going, so I stopped it while I was still ahead. You know that she's fine, so now we can get down to business."

"Put Agent Lake back on the line," he demanded, "I want to speak to her again."

The voice on the phone chuckled lightly in a disbelieving tone. "You think that you can order me around, Eppes? You _still_ think that you're in control of this situation? If you think you can keep trying to bullshit me with your FBI procedures, you've got another thing coming." There was a metallic tapping sound that could be heard over the line. "Do you hear that? That's the sound of the loaded gun I have pointed at your friend right now. You know how easy it would be for me to pull the trigger?"

"Don't do anything you'll regret," Don pleaded, "You're already in enough trouble as it is, and if you kill her –"

"Don't lecture me!" the man yelled in an angry voice. "You have no control over what happens, and this won't be over until you give me what I want! If you want her back, you'd better start taking me seriously, Eppes. You'd goddam better well know that I'll kill her any time I want!"

Suddenly, a loud, explosive bang issued from the speakers, followed by an uncontrolled shriek that was unmistakably Terry which was the most horrifying sound Don had ever heard. He felt as though his whole life was wrapped up in this moment, as though the entire world had dropped away. Charlie had lurched off the sofa with a single violent motion, shakily making his way to the table.

The terrifying voice returned, enveloping the horrified agents with its audible hatred and anger. "Did you hear that, Agent Eppes? I could have killed her just now! That was just a warning. Do you feel like you're in control now?"

"No. What did you just do to her?" Don asked, softly.

"Oh, she's alive. She's not happy, but she's alive. I hope you've come to your senses – gunshot wounds can get infected pretty easily, and I'm not going to be doing her any favors. This next chance that I'm giving you is a gift…if you blow it, the next bullet is going through her head. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes. But, please, end this now. Every minute you keep her only adds to your sentence. If you let her go now—"

"I'm through talking about this, Eppes. You've got twenty-four hours." The speakers clicked as he disconnected, leaving Don with his hopelessness and despair.

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When her captor began talking in loud, incessant tones, Terry immediately began to worry. Though she hardly knew what to expect from someone so unstable, she was still taken completely by surprise when he whirled around to face her, firing the revolver in his hand at point blank range. Luckily, killing her hadn't been his intention since he aimed for her right arm, hitting her midway between her shoulder and elbow. She screamed in pain as the bullet ripped into her arm, ripping through skin and muscle before lodging in the stucco wall behind her. Frantically using her bound hands to rip off her shirt sleeve at the seam, she tried to staunch the free-flowing blood as it ran from the wound down the length of her arm, staining her skin and white shirt a deep red.

Thankfully, the bullet seemed to have missed any major arteries or veins, but the amount of blood pouring from the wound was far from reassuring. She knew that her biggest problem was going to be fighting off infection, though from the sound of his conversation, she might not be able to live long enough for that to become an issue. Hearing him snap shut her cell phone, she looked up at him, fighting back tears of pain. He stood above her breathing heavily, hands balled at his sides. He caught her staring at him, and he calmly holstered his gun, apathetically watching her try to patch up her bloodied arm with strips of her shirt.

"You'd better hope your partner knows how to take a threat, because pretty soon that's going to be the least of your worries," he told her coldly.

Terry refused to answer and instead turned her full attention to doctoring the gunshot wound that was still bleeding freely. As she knotted another strip of cloth around the wound, wincing against the pain, she heard him storm out into the hall, slamming the door behind him. Once again left alone in complete darkness, Terry curled into a corner and cradled her injured arm, begging her frustrated tears not to fall.

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This one was harder to write – the back and forth setup was difficult to get a handle on. Hope it was okay to read, wasn't too confusing, and made sense chronologically.


	12. Betrayal

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Author's Note: **As always, thanks for your reviews! I've gotten many requests for a Don/Terry ending. Don't worry – it's already written. Just stay tuned!

**Chapter Twelve:**

Don forced himself to drag his eyes from the silent cell phone to Charlie's face, who was standing beside him, shaking and ghostly white. His large dark eyes seemed to have gotten even bigger, taking up most of his horrified face as he stared at Don. The room was completely silent as though no one dared to speak before Don, as though he had some sort of twisted precedence before the others in this situation.

It was all he could do to clear his throat and push the cell phone toward the nearby technician who was waiting to analyze it. "Get this down to the processing room. See if you can find out any new information about him." The technician nodded sympathetically in acknowledgement, taking the tape recorder and leaving the office of silent agents.

Though it was the last thing he felt like doing, he turned from the table to face his fellow agents who all wore miserable expressions of solemnity. "We've still got a day to find her. I want teams of agents searching the streets at least five blocks around the site where we found the files, and keep asking anyone who may have seen anything. David and I will meet with Assistant Director Tursack to update him on the situation. Let's get to work."

As the other agents cleared from the office, Don leaned against the table barely noticing Charlie sit back on the sofa, morosely shuffling through his work on the formula. When the room was finally empty, David quietly approached Don and glanced down at one of the taped copies of the conversation.

"She's still alive. At least we have that much," he said quietly. "If we just keep going through today –"

"David, it's not going to do any good!" Don exclaimed. "We have no idea where she is, no way to contact her, no clue as to who this guy is. We have no other plans! How are we supposed to find her in _one day_?"

"I don't know…but we can't give up now. We still have an entire day, and we can't waste it."

Don rubbed his eyes wearily. "What are we supposed to tell Tursack? We'll never be able to actually hand over the formula – it's too important to the case. But if we don't give it to him, he'll kill her. He's already hurt her." Don's felt his throat constrict with emotion. "For all we know, she could be bleeding to death in some godforsaken alley, and we can't do a thing about it!"

Leaning against the table alongside Don, David lowered his eyes with a sigh. "I'm frustrated too, but people have been in and gotten out of worse situations before. We just need to see this through to the end, no matter what the outcome."

Grateful for his friend's encouragement, Don nodded and locked eyes with Charlie who had looked up from the pile of papers on the desk. His brother's hands were clenching and unclenching some of the scrap paper, and he could see a twitching muscle and his jaw. Don knew exactly what was happening – Charlie was taking the failure of the plan to heart, as though it was somehow a personal reflection on his own abilities. He suddenly felt a discomforting flashback to yesterday's conversation with his father who had warned him about getting his brother involved with the case.

David suddenly put a hand on Don's shoulder. "Hey, what do you say that I go down and talk to Tursack by myself? I'll tell him what's happened, and you can hang out down here and help out with the analysis of the tape."

Usually Don would have bristled at the idea of handing over temporary control of the case, but he knew that the last thing he felt like doing was informing the Assistant Director of what had happened during the last conversation. "Sure," he replied, "I'll go down to the linguistics lab. Maybe they've been able to narrow down the possible identities of her kidnapper."

Offering him a last, comforting smile and shooting one in Charlie's direction as well, David headed out the door to speak with Tursack. Don collapsed into one of the chairs across from Charlie, pulling several of the papers from the enormous pile toward himself. Briefly glancing at some of the scribbled figures, he tossed the papers back onto the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

Charlie's voice suddenly broke the silence, sounding shaky and uncertain, "I'm sorry. This was all my fault."

Barely looking up, Don shook his head. "No it wasn't. You did the best you could, and that's all we could ask for."

"How could he have figured out that it wasn't the real formula so fast? It should've worked – it should have! Everything was there…all the work, all the numbers! I just didn't do good enough!"

"Charlie, it wasn't your fault," Don reassured him, "He must be smarter than we initially thought. He knows what he's doing, and we underestimated him. We just need to keep working to get her back. You heard David, and we've still got a whole day to find her. We just need to keep trying."

Trying to give a confident smile, he managed to catch his brother's eye, convincing him that it really wasn't his fault. Charlie stared at him, desperately attempting to believe the reassurance that Don gave him. He knew that Don believed he'd done his best and that there wasn't anything else he could have done to make the plan more successful. He only wished that he could believe it for himself.

Don stood, straightening several piles of paper as he went. "I'm going to head down to analysis. Do you want to come and see what they found?"

Charlie shook his head, snapping out of his thoughtful reverie. "I'm just going to keep working here. You go ahead."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

Charlie nodded, down casting his eyes toward his work again. Silently, Don looked at him, not knowing what to say to comfort his brother or himself for that matter. From this point it looked hopeless, but he refused to give up on Terry yet – he owed her too much to do that. He saw that Charlie wasn't going to respond to any conversation, so with a sigh, he turned in the direction of the analysis lab, hoping that the newest recording had turned up some information.

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His visit to the lab was less than helpful and hardly encouraging since they now had only twenty-two hours to go until the deadline. Though several technicians were reviewing the tape for the third time, they didn't expect to find anything that they had missed before. Don was half-heartedly sipping coffee and carefully listening to the tape again when David returned from his talk with Assistant Director Tursack.

Without a word of encouragement, Don hurried over and was immediately worried by the glum expression on the other agent's face. "You told him what happened?"

"Yeah, and he basically told us what we already know. Under no circumstances can we hand over the actual formula, but he doesn't want to stop looking for Terry. If we find anything, he says we have the full support of the office."

"So we're stuck. We're right back where we started," Don sighed.

David nodded quietly, noticing the obvious disappointment on his friend's face. Setting down his coffee cup, Don started for the door with a set expression. "I'm going to check in with Agent Brooks. He's coordinating the search of the streets near the location of her abduction, and he may have found something. Contact me if anything else turns up here."

Striding through the FBI office corridors, Don attempted to keep a lock on his turbulent thoughts that were turning more frantic and unbalanced by the minute. Seeing Brooks would do him some good, and being able to distance himself from the chaotic energy that permeated the analysis lab would help. He noticed the office was quieter in this section of the building, and he realized that not every agent in the place could have been switched to Terry's abduction. There were fewer agents around in this section, probably because it was lunch hour and those who weren't working on such an emergency case were able to take a normal break. At this point, Don would have given anything to have Terry back and be able to have the luxury of resuming a normal schedule without the constantly gnawing fear in the pit of his stomach that something was going to be forever missing from his life.

Brooks' office was just at the end of the corridor, and he saw with dismay that the interior was dark and appeared vacated. He supposed he could call his cell phone, but as he neared the office he saw that the door was ajar, and he could hear muffled conversation coming from inside. Don guessed that he was probably conferring with the agents that were searching the city blocks and decided it couldn't hurt to wait inside.

Having reached the door, he was about to step inside when he heard the tail end of one of Brooks' sentences that made him freeze mid-step, "I really don't think that they're going to give you that formula."

Curious, Don inched closer, peering into the crack of the ajar door. Brooks was pacing his darkened office behind the desk, a cell phone pressed to his ear and his back turned to Don. He continued to speak into the phone in urgent tones, deep in conversation with whomever was on the other end of the line, "No, they're meeting with Tursack now….Some of them are searching the streets – your guy got sloppy and threw the files in the trash….Yeah, well you need to be more careful in the future….It doesn't matter….No, Eppes trusts me, and I'm telling you that he doesn't have a plan yet….They're still talking about your last phone call….Yeah, you got their attention! How badly did you shoot her?...But she'll live?...That'll work. Now when do I get the money?...That's fine – but I'd better get all of it!...Just as long as we understand each other….All right, I'll give you a call later….I'll take care of it. Bye."

As Brooks flipped his cell phone closed, Don could barely see through the white spots of rage that bloomed before his eyes. A fellow agent, a member of his own _team_ had done this. He clenched the door knob of the office, white-knuckled and breathing hard. Suddenly, Brooks turned from his desk, freezing as his eyes locked with those of Agent Don Eppes, who was staring at him with a ferocious and raging intensity.

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Did you like? As always, drop me a line if you want, 'cause I love e-mails from you guys!


	13. Last Chance

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Chapter Thirteen:**

Agent Brooks slowly lowered his cell phone, mind racing as he stared back at the appalled face of Don Eppes. "Agent Eppes," he said in a forced, casual voice, "I thought you and Agent Sinclair were speaking with Assistant Director Tursack."

Don, gritting his teeth, shot out a hand and slammed open the office door, slowly and deliberately entering the darkened office. "Who was that?" he asked softly.

Brooks stammered only slightly, "Don, I don't know what –"

"Who the hell was that?" he yelled, angrily knocking over one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Was that the bastard who shot her?"

When Brooks stood frozen in the corner and didn't respond, Don continued to advance on him, his anger building and climaxing inside him. "Why'd you do it? How much money did they give you?"

Brooks' face broke into a twisted smile as he continued to lock eyes with Don. "It was enough. Why? Afraid you're never going to see that little bitch of a girlfriend of yours again?"

Suddenly, with a roar of outrage, Don leapt at Brooks, and the two went down in a tangle of arms and legs. They rolled on the floor behind the desk, each trying to get the upper hand against the other. Don found himself on his back, legs pinned by the weight of the other agent. Wrenching his hand free, he slammed his fist upwards and connected with Brooks' jawbone. Though Don's knuckles screamed against the impact, Brooks fell backwards with a grunt, blood trickling from a corner of his mouth. Don launched himself forward again, wrapping his hands around Brooks' neck. The other agent thrashed beneath him, throwing Don off and into the desk where he struck his head with agonizing force against one of the sharp corners. Forcing himself back to his feet, Don managed to wrap an arm around Brooks' throat, slamming him to the office floor and pushing his knee into the small of his back. He fell back with a yell when he felt Brooks' fist box his left ear, but he managed to maintain his hold on the other agent.

"Agent Brooks? Agent Eppes?" he heard from the doorway followed by several pairs of feet dashing over to where the two agents were entangled on the floor. Their fight had hardly gone unnoticed due to the noise they were making, and Don found himself roughly hoisted to his feet, arms held fast by two agents he didn't recognize. Brooks was lifted up as well, mouth and nose bleeding slightly, and it was all Don could do not to hurl himself at the traitor in front of him.

Agent Simons, who had a firm grip on Brooks' left arm, had a stunned expression that was matched by his question, "Would you two like to tell us what the hell is going on?"

"Yeah, I would," Don nodded, spitting his words, "This guy's helping out Agent Lake's kidnappers. I caught him talking with one of them. They're paying him off to give them inside information, and he's been giving them everything they've asked for."

The other agents exchanged incredulous, suspicious looks, and Simons gripped Brooks harder on the arm, turning him slightly to get a better look at his face. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Brooks, who refused to make eye contact with Simons, maintained his focus-less stare forward and lifted his chin in defiance. Don gently shook off the agents who restrained him and ordered, "Get him down to interrogation, and let Tursack know what's been going on. I'm sure he'll be very interested to know about this inside job."

The three agents pulled Brooks past Don (who still wanted nothing better than to hit him across his arrogant face) and out the door. Simons glanced at Don and shook his head in disbelief. "Now what happens?"

Don was suddenly acutely aware of the time – less than a day until the ultimatum was carried out. Terry needed them to focus, now more than ever. "We need him to tell us where she is – and he's going to, so help me God. We don't have much more time."

His eyes darted toward the concerned ones of Simons, but, not wanting to see the fear and apprehensiveness in his fellow agent's face, he strode purposely from the office to the interrogation center, where his last hope for finding his partner awaited questioning.

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Terry awoke to a strange tickling on the front of her shirt. The bleeding from the gunshot wound had finally stopped, and she had managed to fall asleep on the hard closet floor cradling her arm. Now, she had been snatched from a convoluted nightmare she couldn't quite remember to face the reality of her situation that was no less of a nightmare. She snapped her eyes open and saw that the closet door was slightly ajar, sending enough light into the room that she could make out the vague outline of a crouched figure in front of her.

Struggling to sit up against the wall, she realized that the tickling on her shirt was actually a strong, clumsy hand trying to undo the buttons. Her eyes flashed nervously back to the door, but there was no indication that anyone else was in the house – no voices could be heard, and no footsteps filtered up from downstairs. The top two buttons on her shirt were already unfastened, and she pushed up her bound hands, though her arm screamed in protest, to push away the hand.

A soft chuckle came out of the darkness, and she recognized the low voice as that of the blond-haired man whom she had met earlier. She would have felt more comfortable if it was her original captor, since she had immediately sensed that this man possessed terrifyingly little conscience. "I'm glad to see that you're awake," he said.

"Leave me alone," Terry said firmly through gritted teeth, trying her best to ignore the rising fear in her chest.

He edged closer to her, and she slid away clumsily in the opposite direction, trying to distance herself from him. "Does your boss know you're up here? He promised my friends I wouldn't be harmed, and he wouldn't like you bothering me," she told him.

His hand reached out for her shirt again, and she tried to slip away. His other hand shot out, clamping down on her shoulder and stopping her motion as he resumed his leisurely grope. Terry couldn't ever remember feeling so helpless in her life, and her mind raced as she tried to think of a way out of the room. She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling slightly, as she tried to distance herself from what was happening. Suddenly, as his hand lowered to unbutton the third button on her shirt, she heard a door slam downstairs, the heavy footsteps of two men audibly echoing through the house. She flicked her eyes up to the vague outline of the man in front of her, though he hardly seemed to have noticed the noise. She could hear the heavy, pant-like breathing of the man, but she could also make out the muffled conversation of the two men downstairs.

Then, to her relief, she heard clumping footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall. The door was suddenly thrown open, banging against the far wall. The blond man jerked away his hands and jumped to his feet, knowing that he was caught. Her captor, blue eyes blazing in barely contained anger and frustration stood menacingly in the doorframe.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted, advancing on the blond man before him.

Her tormentor lowered his eyes, throwing a quick glance in Terry's direction before stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I wasn't doing anything…just visiting was all."

"Well, don't. This will all be over one way or another in a day, so just hold on to yourself. Get downstairs and make yourself useful," he shot back, glaring at him. The blond man slipped by him sheepishly and disappeared into the hallway. Letting out an impatient sigh, her captor stared impassively down at Terry where she sat, her bloody, torn shirt still half unbuttoned. He shook his head in a frustrated manner and left without another word, slamming the door shut behind him.

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TBC soon, I hope, but I have midnight tickets to Star Wars on Thursday (squee!), so I'll be a little tired the next day. Prom's this weekend too, so I'll try to crank out another chapter on Sunday or so, but no promises on the exact date.


	14. Progress

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Author's Note: **Sorry that this one took so long to post. Time was hard to come by this week. In case you were wondering, Star Wars was amazing – saw it twice in twelve hours. Prom was pretty good too, and I was actually named to Prom Court, which was a weird turn of events. Anyway, 12 days of school left, and I hope to finish this story up in the next few weeks. Enjoy!

**Chapter Fourteen:**

Don scratched in an irritated fashion at the bandages around his left hand. Tursack had insisted that he get his wrist checked out after his fight with Agent Brooks. It turned out he had sprained several of the metacarpals, so he was now sporting layers of sports tape and gauze around his wrist until he got the time to properly splint it. The entire time the doctor had examined his hand, Don was restless and impatient, and he imagined he could hear in his head a steady countdown of the time that he had left to find Terry. Now, quickly striding toward one of the interrogation rooms, he was no less anxious, and he hoped that Brooks would be forthcoming with the information they needed.

Upon reaching the hallway of interrogation rooms, he glanced at the one-sided mirror that overlooked room four, where Brooks was being kept for questioning. Brooks, his lip puffy and swollen from where Don had decked him, was sitting at one end of the table, hands folded in his lap and staring obstinately at David who stood across from him. Don took a deep breath and entered the door, giving a nod to David who moved to join him.

"Any luck?" he asked in a low voice.

David shook his head. "He refuses to speak to anyone. But he did say that he'd rather talk to you personally."

Don glanced over at Brooks who was apathetically watching the conversation between the two agents and giving no indication that he understood or cared. "Well, we already know what drives him. He's greedy; he doesn't care about anyone but himself. We need to convince him that it'll benefit him in the long run to talk rather than clam up. Plus, I don't think he'll have any hesitation about turning in his accomplices – loyalty doesn't seem to mean much to him."

David nodded, gave a grim smile, and patted Don on the shoulder, moving aside to let the older agent have a try with the suspect. Don walked to the other end of the table, never taking his eyes from Brooks, who scrutinized him with an equally thorough manner. He pulled out one of the chairs and sank into it, rubbing his chin with his hand.

"I hear that you're not speaking with Agent Sinclair," he said casually.

Brooks gave an indifferent toss of his head. "I just thought it'd be better to speak with the head of the team. I mean, you _are_ in charge of this case, aren't you? You _are_ the one responsible for making sure Agent Lake gets back safely? I'm sure that you'd understand the stakes here a little bit more than Agent Sinclair, wouldn't you?"

Don allowed the pointed questions to roll off of him. "Agent Lake is a valuable member of the Bureau, and everyone here understands and appreciates her importance. That's not a valid reason for refusing to respond to direct questioning."

Suddenly, Brooks' face lit up with a malicious, provocative smile. "Oh yes, I'm sure that everyone appreciates Agent Lake…some of us more than others, wouldn't you say, Eppes?"

Again, Don pushed away the impulse to reach across the table and throttle the man in front of him. Brooks was trying to jab him personally, needle him into getting sloppy and careless. "Agent Sinclair said that you wanted to speak to me, and I'm listening."

"I do want to talk to you, but first I want to hear what you can do for me. I'm not going to give you any information until I'm given some assurance that you're going to help me out with my sentence," Brooks said seriously.

Don was expecting this, and he flicked his eyes toward David who gave him a subtle nod of his head – he caught the man's reference to self-preservation as well. "You've admitted to leaking classified information from the FBI, aiding and abetting known criminals, serving as an accessory to domestic terrorism, and assisting in the kidnapping of a Federal agent. We're talking thirty years of prison time – I don't know how much I'm going to be able to help you…or if I want to."

Leaning forward and resting his arms on the tabletop, Brooks pinned Don with a penetrating stare. "Then we're finished here. If you don't help me, there's no information, and your friend is dead this time tomorrow."

Putting on a reluctant face, Don rubbed his forehead with his hands. He needed to make sure that Brooks was convinced – if he was too eager to agree to the conditions, Brooks might get greedy with his demands, and Don couldn't afford to give him any more leeway than he had to. "All right, look…I can probably make sure that you're put on house arrest for part of your sentence, and I can see if you can have expanded privileges – more phone calls, longer visiting hours, television."

Brooks gave a small, sad smile. "That's not good enough. I want to know what you're going to do about my _sentence_."

"You know I don't have any control over that! You're facing multiple charges, all of which…" Don fell into silent pensiveness. "What if I convince them to drop the charge for domestic terrorism? I'm not promising anything, but it could reduce your prison time by a few years."

He held his breath as the man across from him contemplated the offer, searching Don's face for any hint of insincerity or duplicity. Apparently satisfied, he sat back with a nod. "I'm holding you to that, Agent Eppes."

"I've given you what you wanted; now it's time for you to talk." Don motioned to David, who sat next to him at the table with a pen and paper, ready to scribble down notes. "The man who has Terry – I want his name and where we can find him."

"Bill Klaptosky. All he gave me as far as contact information goes is a cell phone number, which I have in my office," Brooks rattled off in a monotone voice.

"We'll need a physical description of him as well," Don said.

"I don't know what he looks like." At Don's confused expression, he explained, "Bill's very careful. He doesn't make contact with people whom he doesn't explicitly trust. He had one of his friends first approach me, but I've never seen that man again, either."

"Why did he want Charlie's formula?" Don asked.

"You've already figured that one out," Brooks said. "He'd been really careful not to leave any evidence at the crime scenes from his robberies and murders, and now there was a way that he could get caught. He couldn't afford for that to happen, so when I told him about Charlie's idea, he wanted a way to get it."

"By kidnapping Agent Lake? Who suggested that?"

"Does it really matter?" Brooks asked with a serene expression. "I just happened to remember that she would be walking home that night, and Bill seemed to think that would be the easiest way. I told him the route she would probably take, and he took care of the rest."

Feeling anger at the man's nonchalant attitude boil up inside him, Don swallowed, forcing himself to keep his mind on the interrogation. "Where'd he take her?"

Brooks shrugged as though the matter were irrelevant. "He didn't tell me. Our relationship is strictly on a need-to-know basis, and I don't ask too many questions.

Don had had enough of the agent's unflinching superiority. "I want to know everything that you did to help Bill Klaptosky in the course of this case."

Smiling slightly, Brooks said, "Don't you think I should have my attorney present to answer that?"

"Humor me. There's already enough evidence to convict you, and I'm sure if we search your office we'll find plenty more."

Brooks shrugged. "There's not that much more than what I've told you. I helped him find Agent Lake, told him about the formula, gave him updates as to your progress…he wasn't very happy when I mentioned that you sent him a forged formula. He was pretty pissed about that."

Don ground his teeth angrily, jaw clenching forcefully. "Just two more questions for now. Has he already killed Agent Lake, and is he serious about his ultimatum? Will he kill her?"

"She's not dead yet, but yes – he is completely serious when he says he'll kill her. You should be thankful that he gave you a second chance. It surprised me that he didn't shoot her as soon as he found out about the forgery."

David and Don exchanged concerned glances and rose from the table. David motioned to one of the security guards outside of the room, who entered to escort Brooks to one of the cells in the brig down the hall. "We'll speak with you again soon, Brooks."

"I'm sure you will Agent Eppes. Just remember our agreement." He allowed the guard to take him by one arm and steer him out the door toward the far end of the corridor.

Don took up the notepad on the table. "Let's go see what we can find on Bill Klaptosky."

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"I've got him!" David said happily. Don sat up straighter and leaned closer to the computer screen. They'd been looking for their suspect in the Federal databanks for the past half-hour without luck, and Don was starting to worry that Brooks had given them the wrong name in an effort to throw them off one last time.

"This is him." David pointed to the screen. "Bill Klaptosky. Served a prison sentence in Nevada for burglary. Several more robberies were committed that followed a similar pattern, but there wasn't enough evidence to convict him."

"Sounds like our guy," Don said, examining the man on the screen. He had deep blue eyes that burned out of his chiseled, dark face. His neatly combed brown hair and handsome features somehow seemed out of place on their prime suspect for a murder and robbery spree. "Does the databank have his phone number or address?"

Quickly scanning down the screen, David shook his head. "The only ones that they have on file are from his previous home in Nevada. After he served his sentence, he fell out of touch with the system and slipped away."

"Agent Eppes?" Don looked up toward the doorway and saw Agent Simons standing in the threshold, holding a piece of paper and wearing a bright smile. "I contacted the cell phone companies in the local area for information on the number that Brooks has been calling."

Don stood, taking the outstretched paper that Simons was holding. "I got lucky on my third call – the number and the phone are licensed to a Mr. Bill Klaptosky, and we were able to get his home address from the company as well."

Don caught David's eye, and they exchanged excited grins. "There's one more thing," Simons said, "I ran the address by your brother, and he tried plugging it into that formula of his. It fits – he thinks it's the real thing."

Clapping Simons on the shoulder, Don clenched the paper in his hand, leading the other officers toward Tursack's office where he hoped they could finally begin planning Terry's recovery mission.

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That "review" button is looking mighty tasty, isn't it folks?


	15. Countdown

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Author's Note: **This isn't the last chapter! Stay tuned!

**Chapter Fifteen:**

Hearing the muffled buzz of voices from outside the door, Don and David entered the conference room to speak to their assembled recovery team. Their meeting with Tursack had gone well, and he was prepared to give Don whatever means necessary to get Terry back safely. When they entered the conference room however, he was amazed at the number of agents that had been appointed to the task; over twenty-five agents, some from the SWAT teams and some from technical and forensics teams, were gathered in the room awaiting instructions. Upon seeing Don in the doorway, the agents quickly fell silent, eager to begin the next mission.

Throwing a few files on a desk, Don made his way to the projector, bringing it into focus and clicking on the photograph of their suspect. "Agent Brooks has identified this man as the kidnapper of Agent Lake and the ring-leader of the murder and robbery spree," he began, noticing several agents exchange interested looks. "We're looking for a man named Bill Klaptosky, believed to be armed and extremely dangerous. We also have reason to believe that he may not be alone, as his alleged crimes were the work of several people. Deployment will take place in thirty minutes to his home address on Barrymore Street, where we also suspect Agent Lake may be held. Our main objective is to ensure the safety of our agent – capturing Klaptosky alive is preferred but secondary. Understood?"

The other agents nodded affirmatively and cleared the office, moving to their respective positions for the recovery. Don and David, who were leading one of the SWAT teams exchanged optimistic glances and followed the others to suit up and collect their gear. As he pulled on his Kevlar vest, Don prayed that they would make it in time – _"Hold on, Terry. Just a little bit longer, and you'll be home. Just hold on."_

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Bill paced the dim living room as his two friends stood by watching anxiously. Casting another suspicious, angry glance toward his silent cell phone that was lying open-faced on the couch, he ground his teeth impatiently.

He heard Paul's voice timidly from one of the corners, "When did he say he was going to call?"

Not even bothering to look back in his direction, Bill answered, "You know he always calls at 6:00. It's 6:23 now, and he's never late."

More worry crept into this friend's voice as he asked, "Do you think the Feds caught him? Do you think they got him to talk?"

Bill had already considered this, and yes, it did concern him that Brooks was late with his call (_very_ late) and yes, he wasn't completely confident in Brooks' loyalty at this point. It was possible that he was caught, and that he'd blabbed to his coworkers, in which case Bill knew he had a problem. He had an abducted FBI agent in the upstairs closet, an ultimatum that was hours away from expiring, and an informant that had missed his check-in time. If something had gone wrong, he knew that faith in Brooks wasn't going to save him – rationality and decisive action would go much farther.

Turning to face the other men he said, "We have to accept that he may have been caught. If that's the case, we can't stick around here for much longer, so I want you two to head over to Paul's place – make sure you're not followed. I'll give you a ten minute head start, and I'll follow with Agent Lake. If there's a problem, I want you to call and get yourselves out. Are we clear?"

The others nodded, grabbing their jackets from the nearby chairs, Paul giving Bill a quick squeeze on the shoulder which Bill promptly shrugged away, too preoccupied with thought to give much notice. When he heard the front door quietly click shut, he reached for the holster on his belt, unclipping the gun, and lightly rubbing the trigger with the ball of his thumb. Casting a pensive glance from the door to the landing upstairs, he sat in an armchair to listen to the silent countdown in his head.

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Terry jerked herself awake when she heard the closet door bang open, her neck creaking painfully as she lifted her head. She saw the familiar silhouette of her captor, and her heart began to rapidly thump in her chest when she saw the revolver dangling from one of his meaty palms. He took a step toward her, his other hand closing around the elbow of her uninjured arm. Without a word, he pulled her to her feet; Terry, who had been curled up on the floor for who knew how long, felt her knees buckle slightly and her sight swim before her as her head throbbed. Struggling not to show him how weak she felt, she bravely asked him, "Where are we going?"

"There's been a change of plans," he muttered, shoving the barrel of his revolver between her shoulder blades. "Walk."

Wincing slightly against the light, Terry slowly made her way from the closet and proceeded down the hall, her captor and his gun close behind her. There was still the wild fantasy she clung to that Don and the team would show up out of nowhere, saving her at the last possible moment with all of the bravery and luck that accompanied such miracle saves. Of course, Terry had no idea where she was being taken now, but she knew that he was probably impatient enough by this point to be ready to kill her. If Don hadn't given him what he wanted, and she had no doubt he refused, then her captor was probably pissed enough to shoot her, dump her, and be done with it. Terry knew that this was it – there would be no miracle save, and it was now up to her to live or die.

Focusing all of her FBI-trained mind on the task in front of her, she attempted to analyze her present situation with a clear and level head. Though she was physically weakened, she could use the element of surprise – she doubted that her captor expected her to attempt a feasible escape. He had let go of her arm, and her only restraint at this point was the pistol that he was holding – surprise, again, would be necessary. The corridor was quickly coming to an end, and she could see a staircase ahead – if she made a move, it would have to be there.

At the first step, Terry grabbed for the rail and clutched her ribcage, groaning in what she hoped was believable pain. The man behind her lowered the pistol slightly and leaned closer to her. "Hurry up," he whispered urgently.

Terry chose that moment to suddenly straighten, ram her good elbow into his stomach, and push him up and away, heaving his weight with all the strength she had. He stumbled back with a shout, firing blindly but hitting only the ceiling, until finally losing his balance and crashing to the floor. Terry wasted no time and immediately started down the stairs, hurrying as fast as she could but was heeded by her injuries.

Halfway down she heard his roar and his lumbering footsteps as he followed her down the stairs. Terrified, she tried to go faster but found herself thrown to the floor below as he launched himself at her. She shrieked in pain as her already bruised head hit the baseboard, and she watched through squinted eyes as her pursuer went rolling in the opposite direction, revolver flying from his hand and skittering across the wood floor.

Terry fought to get to her feet but the man was faster, and he slowly approached her, eyes glittering with hatred as he towered over her. "You stupid bitch," he breathed. He suddenly drew back his enormous booted foot and planted a square kick in her side. Terry felt her already cracked ribs explode in agony, and she heard the distinctive popping sound of breaking bone. She gave an involuntary yelp and curled into a ball in an attempt to protect her head and damaged ribs.

He stood over her, breathing heavily, and she watched with frightened eyes as he slowly made his way to the fallen revolver. As he reached to pick it up from the ground, she squeezed her eyes shut against the inevitable, tears of anger, misery, and hopelessness beginning to burn. The sounds in the room seemed to be magnified – the slow, heavy steps of her captor, the distant plopping of water droplets in the kitchen sink, the creaky pinging of the radiators. However, these sounds were nothing compared to the sudden burst of noise that filled the room as the front door banged open and multiple shouts echoed from the doorway: "FBI! FBI! Put the gun down, and put your hands over your head!"

Terry snapped her head up and was amazed at the number of FBI agents suddenly pouring through the doorway, all wearing standard-issue vests and all heavily armed. Several of the agents had weapons pointed at her captor who, calm and collected to the end, was slowly putting his gun on the ground and allowing himself to be frisked and cuffed. Still shocked and shaky that she would actually be okay, she barely noticed one of the agents break away from the group and move to her side.

Tearing her eyes from her cuffed captor, she saw Don Eppes quickly striding toward her, tearing his protective goggles from his face and kneeling concernedly by her huddled figure. "Terry? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" he asked urgently.

She shook her head mutely, evading his eyes. "I'm fine. Could you help me up?"

He took her gently by the arm, and helped her into a sitting position so that she could lean more comfortably against the wall. She winced as her ribs pressed painfully against the wall, and she hurried to cover up her pain. Don, who was carefully searching her bruised face for hints to her condition, immediately caught her expression.

"Terry, what happened? Where does it hurt?"

When she down-cast her eyes again with a shake of her head, he knelt beside her and gently cupped her face in his hands, turning her to face him. He swallowed painfully when he saw the ugly, purplish gash on her left cheek; he locked his gaze with hers, but she quickly looked away, not wanting him to see the slowly ebbing fear in her eyes.

"It'll all be okay. We're going to take you home," he whispered, gently stroking her hair. She nodded shakily, squeezing his other hand tightly. Don glanced over his shoulder where Bill was being led from the room by several agents. David was on his cell phone with Tursack, and he gave a reassuring, happy smile in their direction. Catching the eye of Agent Simons, Don called, "Can you get some paramedics in here?"

Simons gave a quick nod and headed for the front door to flag down some members of the ambulance staff. Don turned his attention back to Terry, who was cradling her bloodied arm and silently watching him delegate. He moved closer, sitting back against the wall next to her, and put a comforting arm around her shoulder, drawing her into a gentle embrace. Don heard her give a shaky sigh, her hand reaching out to find his and squeeze it for comfort. Casting his eyes down to the woman beside him, Don finally felt that his world was coming back together.

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To Be Continued (more Don/Terry to come)! This isn't finished yet, and I know, this has been a long time coming, but I hope it was worth it!


	16. Update

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry friendship

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Author's Note: **This chapter's kind of a long one, so it took me a while to get it right. And no, this story is _still_ not completely finished – I'm thinking probably one more chapter to go (some D/T hurt/comfort stuff is coming, I promise).

**Chapter Sixteen:**

Don anxiously paced the waiting room of the hospital's emergency wing, casting nervous and impatient glances toward the double doors that led to the treatment rooms. He had been waiting for nearly an hour and a half for news on Terry's condition but had received little information from the receptionists, who were growing steadily more exasperated at his endless questioning. Whenever he approached the front desk, the nurses all seemed to suddenly remember other appointments that they had to rush off to, all trying to avoid the worried interrogation of Agent Don Eppes.

Don thought that he'd restrained himself considerably – he'd only asked for an update eight times…well actually nine times, but the first time he was only checking over Terry's medical history, so he told himself it didn't count. Catching himself mid-glance at checking the time for the forty-seventh time that night, Don leaned against the wall with a sigh, keeping a fixed gaze on the double doors.

Until this point, he hadn't even had time to stop and consider how close they had truly come to losing Terry – fifteen seconds later, and she would likely have been killed. His stomach clenched involuntarily at the memory of seeing her lying on the floor, bruised and beaten, the man who had hurt her being led from the room emotionlessly. Though he instantly wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and convince both her and himself that everything would be all right, he couldn't help but admire her strength. The paramedics had offered her a stretcher to take her to the ambulance, but Terry refused, slowly and unsteadily walking out on her own, Don's hand hovering protectively near her elbow.

When he wordlessly climbed into the ambulance after her, she gave him a small smile, though one that Don noticed didn't quite reach her eyes. As the paramedics asked her repeated questions as to her condition, Terry brushed off their concerns, insisting that she was perfectly fine. Though Don sat silently beside her to allow the paramedics to do their job, he noticed the slight grimace that crossed her face when the ambulance bounced too harshly over potholes and the way her left hand gingerly supported her right arm, which was wrapped in bloody strips of her torn shirt. He was thankful that the ambulance staff insisted on a complete physical at the hospital despite her protestations. After escorting her into the emergency room, she had turned to him and placed a hand on his sleeve. "I can make it on my own now, Don. Thanks for coming this far," she said softly.

He nodded, understanding that she needed to do this part of the visit by herself. "I'll be waiting for you when you're finished. Just have someone come and get me when you're done."

She gave him a small nod, and he felt her lightly squeeze his arm. As one of the nurses walked her through the doors to the treatment area, he watched her go, a painful lump forming in his throat as he noticed her slow limping steps to the doorway. At that point, he folded himself into one of the plastic waiting room chairs with a clipboard and pen, filling in the gaps of Terry's recent medical history. This process took a horribly short amount of time, so he was left with nearly eighty minutes to pace and worry, broken only by a brief phone conversation with David who wanted to check up on the lack of information about Terry's condition.

Grinding his teeth impatiently, Don threw another anxious look toward the wall clock and found that time seemed to have come to a complete standstill inside the hospital. _'Ninety minutes…what could possibly be taking ninety minutes?'_ he thought worriedly.

The emergency room doors that led out to the parking lot opened with a slight whoosh, and Don did a double take after glancing over his shoulder in the entrance direction. Charlie, his cheeks slightly flushed and curly hair in even bigger disarray than usual, was standing in the doorway with a paper bag. He caught Don's eye and rushed over to him, not even bothering to acknowledge the nurse who had politely asked if he needed help.

"Charlie? How'd you know—"

"Dad told me," he explained breathlessly. "David called the house from the office, but I was down teaching a night class, so Dad took a message for me. As soon as I got back, he let me know that you guys found her and that she was being looked at by the doctors. Have you heard anything yet?"

"No, not yet," Don said, collapsing into a chair. "The doctors haven't said anything, and the receptionists are getting tired of seeing me." Charlie chuckled, though it was a laugh laced with tension and nervousness. "What's in the bag?" he asked.

"Oh…I borrowed Terry's house key and brought her a change of clothes. I though she might want to change into something clean for her trip home tonight," Charlie said, pulling a white blouse and slacks from the bag.

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it, Charlie," Don said, giving him a smile. Charlie's mind, however, didn't seem to be that devoted to small talk at the moment, and his eyes darted nervously in the way they always did before he broached a sensitive issue.

"How was she?" he asked suddenly, in a hesitant voice. "When you found her…was she okay?"

Though Don had a feeling that that question was coming, he found he wasn't quite sure how to answer. "Well, you know Terry. She insisted on walking out on her own – I think the paramedics were a little miffed that she wouldn't use their stretcher." Charlie gave a little smile that told Don he wasn't buying his light humor. Don sighed, slumping back in his seat. "To be honest, I don't really know. She kept saying she was fine – didn't want to be fussed over, I guess."

"She didn't look fine to you?" Charlie asked softly.

"He was about to kill her. She'd be dead if we came any later." Don suddenly glanced up at Charlie. "You know those cases we get with abuse or drug rings, where we find bodies in ditches with their faces bashed in and their clothes ripped apart? Bodies that you know were torn apart by complete sadists?" Charlie slowly nodded, eyes wide and dark. "That's almost what it felt like to me. Seeing her like that…it was harder than anything else I've had to do."

Don fell silent, hardly knowing what else to say. It was too difficult to put all of his emotions into words, and as Charlie gave him a comforting grip on the shoulder, he knew he didn't even have to try.

"You know what, I think I'm going to head out," Charlie said. "She's been through a tough time, and I'm sure the last thing she wants is a lot of attention."

"I know she'd be happy to see you, Charlie."

"It's okay. She's probably exhausted, and she's closest to you anyway. You should be with her – it'll give her time to talk. Will you tell her…" Charlie trailed off and suddenly dashed out of the waiting room, leaving Don completely confused. His brother returned only a few minutes later with a bouquet of daisies and baby's breath from the hospital gift shop and awkwardly handed them to Don with the paper bag. "Just tell her that I'm glad she's all right."

"I will. Say hi to Dad for me," Don said and felt the corners of his mouth twitch into an involuntary smile at his brother's affectionate gesture to his friend. Charlie waved goodbye and headed to the parking lot.

With the distraction of Charlie's visit gone, Don became acutely aware of the time again and looked down at his watch only to find that seven more minutes had gone by. He made his way over to the receptionists' desk again, where a single young intern gave him an apprehensive glance. He handed her the paper bag saying, "Could you please make sure these get to Terry Lake? She's being treated now, and she might want to change before leaving for the night."

She nodded and hurried off through the doors to the treatment rooms where she passed a middle-aged, balding doctor with a kindly looking face who was carrying a clipboard and exiting into the waiting area. He locked eyes with Don and gave him a grim half-smile, which was all the encouragement Don needed to quickly cross to the doctor.

The doctor put out his hand and introduced, "Doctor Richard Bailey."

"Don Eppes. You've been working with Agent Lake?"

"Yes, the nurses should be finishing up with her right about now."

Don sighed in relief. "That's good. How is she?" Don was too experienced at reading other peoples' faces to miss the way Doctor Bailey's eyes lowered, flitting nervously around the waiting room. His relief immediately vanished, and he felt all of his earlier apprehension and panic return.

"Maybe we should speak about this in a more private place, Agent Eppes," Doctor Bailey said hesitantly.

"She said she was fine! What happened to her?" Don asked, hearing his voice rise.

"My office is just down the hall. Why don't we speak about her condition there?" Bailey said, kindly but firmly.

Don allowed himself to be led through the glass double doors into the treatment wing, though questions and worries were now swirling in his mind. Doctor Bailey led him to a small, brightly lit office and closed the door behind them, sitting composedly behind his desk. Though there was another available chair, Don remained standing and paced the tiny office.

"What did Terry tell you about her experiences?" Bailey asked.

"Not very much – we didn't really have time to talk before coming here."

"Agent Lake's injuries are more…severe than she had us initially believe," Bailey began, obviously choosing his words delicately.

"But Terry told me that she was fine, she said she felt fine!" Don insisted.

"She may have been trying to put on a brave face in light of her situation. But after our physical examination of her, we believe her recovery period will be long and difficult." Bailey motioned to the other seat again, but Don stoically ignored him.

"What did he do to her?" he asked softly.

Doctor Bailey flipped open Terry's medical file and began to read. "She had a severe concussion, and the blow also gave her a nasty cut on the back of her head. The cut on her cheek went clear to the bone, but we've glued it shut, and it should heal without complication. Her left wrist had a hairline fracture, so we've given her a cast for a few weeks. She was also complaining of chest pains, so we took an x-ray of her chest cavity; four ribs were bruised and cracked while two were completely broken. She was actually pretty lucky there – one of them missed puncturing a lung by only two centimeters. There isn't much we can do for that except give bed rest and wrap the ribcage. She also said that she fell down the stairs right before you found her, which resulted in slight internal bleeding. She may have bruised her kidneys on the way down, so we told her not to be surprised if there are blood traces in her urine, though she should contact us if it continues longer than a week."

As the doctor rattled off the damage report, Don was shocked into silence; she had been beaten to within an inch of her life. At this point he wanted nothing more than to strangle the bastard who had done this – she was lucky to have escaped alive. Struggling to speak, he asked, "There was also a gunshot wound. How's her arm?"

"The bullet missed major arteries or veins, but she still lost a lot of blood. The tissue will repair itself, but it'll take time. We've given her several doses of antibiotics in case of infection, so we'll need to keep an eye on its healing," Bailey explained.

"But she'll be okay?"

"Yes, physically she'll recover given time and rest," he paused, as though choosing his words before speaking. "I'm more worried about her emotional state at this point. She's been through an extremely traumatic experience, and right now she hasn't said very much to me or the other physicians. She told me that you're her partner?" At Don's nod he continued, "She may not want to talk about what happened right now, but eventually she's going to have to come to grips with her experiences. Don't press her to face it immediately, but she will want to talk about it at some point. Just be there for her – listen when she feels like talking and support her any way you can."

Though Don understood what the doctor was telling him, he also knew Terry extremely well. She prided herself on her ability to bottle up and conceal her emotions, a trait that was critical in dealing with difficult cases. Don also knew that she had difficulty in getting rid of those emotions and though sloughing off emotional deadweight was important, it was hard for her to do. She could be extremely withdrawn if she wanted to – Don doubted if he'd ever know exactly what happened to her.

Bailey gauged Don's reaction to the information and found it to be calm and collected – the epitome of a seasoned FBI agent. "They're probably finishing up with her right about now, if you'd like to see her. She can go home tonight as well, if you wanted to give her a ride home."

Don nodded. "Thank you, Doctor Bailey. What room is she in?"

Shaking Don's outstretched hand, Bailey said, "Exam room 12. It'll be the fifth door on your right."

Quickly striding from the office, Don immediately started down the corridor, clenching Charlie's flowers tightly in one hand. At the door to room 12, he knocked lightly and entered. Terry was sitting on the treatment table speaking with the nurse as she buttoned the white blouse that Charlie had brought her. Her progress with the buttons was slow as one hand was encased in a blue cast and the other arm was tightly bandaged. Don couldn't help but glance at her exposed abdomen and saw bleach-white bandages wrapped around her lower ribcage. He quickly averted his eyes with a painful swallow.

Terry and the nurse finished their conversation, and the nurse moved over to him. "She's all yours. Make sure she gets plenty of bed rest and gets enough fluids and nutrients – we've had her on an IV here, but she's pretty dehydrated. We'll need to see her back here in three days unless there are any additional problems."

Don thanked her and watched her go, immediately turning his attention back to Terry who finished fastening a particularly difficult button at the top of her blouse. She looked up at him and gave him a smile then tried to clamber off of the treatment table. Don immediately rushed to her side to help as he put one hand on the small of her back and the other on her elbow.

"Thanks, Don," she said as she looked at him gratefully.

"That's what friends are for, right?" he joked gently. "Oh, yeah, before I forget, these are for you." He presented the flowers with a flourish. At her questioning glance, he explained, "They're from Charlie. He came down to see how you were doing and to bring you your change of clothes. He didn't want to overwhelm you, so he asked me to give you his best wishes. He's glad that you're back."

"That was sweet of him." Terry nestled the flowers into the crook of her arm. "Can we go now, Don? Please?"

When she glanced back up at him again, he could see in her eyes that all she wanted to do was leave the hospital and begin putting this horrible nightmare behind her. "Sure. My car's right outside waiting for us. Do you want me to carry anything for you or –"

"No, I'll be fine. Let's just go," she said, walking slowly toward the door of the exam room. He walked with her down the corridor, proceeding slowly but steadily out to the parking lot, where he helped her up into the passenger seat and took his spot behind the wheel. As they pulled away from the hospital, a light rain began to fall, spattering the windshield and car windows. Don stole several glances at his silent partner who was refusing to make any effort at conversation.

"Terry," he began awkwardly, "I know that you don't feel like talking, but if you do, you can always come to me. It doesn't matter when or where, because I'll listen. Nothing is more important to me than knowing that you're okay."

"I know," she said, her voice sounding distant and far away. He looked over at her again. Her fingers were curled around the daisy stems, and her head was resting against the window as she watched the raindrops streak past the glass. As the car passed beneath the streetlamps, the light played over her face, creating a dark shadow over the deep gash in her cheek.

"Terry, I know that you don't want to feel like I'm patronizing you, but you're more than welcome to stay with me for a while, at least until you start to heal up a little bit. Charlie and my dad have extra guest rooms at their house too, if you'd feel more comfortable that way –"

"I'll be fine Don, I promise." She tore her eyes away from the window to return his glance. "Right now, I just need to go home and be by myself for a little while. I don't mean to push you away, but I'll be all right." She gave him a smile that he could tell was far from completely genuine and turned back to the window after he nodded.

The rest of the car ride passed in relative silence as Terry wanted nothing more than to sit pensively in the passenger seat, and Don wanted nothing more than to respect her wish for quietude. Upon reaching her apartment, Don jumped from his seat and rushed to help her from the car, carrying the small bag of antibiotics with him. He let her lean into him as they slowly walked up the stairs to her building and up the elevator to her floor. At her door, she fumbled with the lock only momentarily and managed to open the door and switch on the kitchen light. Don put the antibiotics neatly on the counter and picked up the bouquet of flowers from Charlie that she had put on the table.

"Do you want these in water?" he asked.

"Sure, thanks." She carefully leaned against the wall and watched Don carefully trim the stems of the daisies, fetch a vase from the top of the refrigerator, fill it with water, and deposit the flowers in the vase, arranging them with a seriousness and concentration that was so endearing she couldn't help but smile.

Having finished with the flowers, he turned to face her with a sigh. "Are you sure you want to stay here tonight? There's nothing else I can do?"

"I'm sure, and you've done more than enough for me already," Terry said, straightening up and walking toward him. She brushed the fingers of her cast arm across his cheek then gave his hand a squeeze. "Thanks for finding me."

"Thanks for hanging on," he returned, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Suddenly, without even thinking about what he was doing, he leaned down and kissed her forehead tenderly, and then in an even more astonishing move, kissed her lightly on the lips. "Call me if you need anything."

She nodded and watched him leave, her head still reeling from the surprise and delight of such a beautiful and unexpected welcome home gift.

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I will finish this soon. Until then, what did you think?


	17. Comfort and Release

**Show: **NUMB3RS

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Suspense/Angst

**Rated: **T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)

**Pairing: **Don/Terry

**Summary: **As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?

**Disclaimer: **I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.

**Author's Note: **Well, this is it – the final chapter of this story, and you have no idea how long it took me to get this one the way I wanted it to sound. I had the idea for the ending since I started, but had no idea how to write it. Plus, yesterday was my last day of high school ever, and I bawled my eyes out virtually the entire time (I've known kids there since we were three). It was really not a good day for me to be writing, so here I am today. Hope that you like it.

**Chapter Seventeen:**

Terry rolled over gingerly and stared at the alarm clock on the nightstand – 11:09. After Don had dropped her off, she had realized how exhausted she was and decided it would be best to go straight to bed. Unfortunately, sleep had so far eluded her, and she had spent the last two hours restlessly tossing and turning, the bandages and her nightgown making her hot and uncomfortable. Sighing impatiently, she finally sat up stiffly and switched on the light, blinking and squinting against the brightness. Carefully climbing off the bed, she padded to the bathroom and turned on the shower – the hot water might do her some good.

She slowly peeled off her nightgown, wincing when the fabric tugged at the bandages around her arm. Doctor Bailey had given her several plastic bags to protect her cast and bandaged arms and ribs from water, and she dutifully wound the plastic sheeting around her wounds and secured it with rubber bands. Stepping into the shower, she closed her eyes and allowed the soothing water to massage her tired muscles. Suddenly she looked down and immediately shut her eyes again; her hips and legs were a rainbow of bruises, and she could see the white bandages around her ribs and abdomen beneath the plastic sheeting. She blinked back tears of anger and shame as she self-consciously touched the deep cut on her cheek and the scabbed gash on her neck. After only a few more minutes, she clumsily shut off the water with her bagged and cast arm and wrapped a towel around herself as she left the bathroom.

Terry made her way to the dresser and began to rummage through the drawers for something more comfortable to wear to bed. She paused in her search when she found a large, faded baseball T-shirt in the back of one of the drawers, and she slowly pulled it from the rest of the folded clothes. Terry felt a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth – she'd completely forgotten about this shirt. Don had lent it to her back when they were in the Academy. They'd gone to a local park together for a concert during spring break, which was interrupted by a sudden and unexpected rainstorm. By the time they'd gotten back to his place, they were completely soaked, and Don insisted on lending her a dry shirt to wear before he took her home. She supposed that she'd forgotten to ever give it back to him; the crumpled material still smelled faintly of his aftershave, and with a smile, Terry pulled the shirt over her head, smoothing it down until it reached almost to her knees. She put on some cotton pajama shorts as well and carefully unwrapped the plastic from around her arms and midsection.

Glancing over her shoulder toward her unmade bed, she realized that it had never looked less inviting. Her apartment, dark and lonely, was quiet and had an almost predatory feel to it that unsettled her immensely. She suddenly realized that the last thing she wanted to do was shut off the light again – that would leave her alone with her thoughts and feelings, an idea that was far from appealing. Then, as though her legs suddenly had a mind of their own, she began to walk toward the kitchen phone to call a cab. She knew that she had to get out, and it didn't even matter where.

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Don lounged on the couch, the blue light from the quietly flickering television casting an eerie glow in the darkened apartment. He had been aimlessly flipping channels for the past forty-five minutes and had finally landed on a rerun of Jurassic Park that was playing on Sci-fi. It barely registered that the tyrannosaurus had just attacked and eaten the lawyer since he was staring at the television with a glazed and barely focused expression.

When he had come home from dropping Terry off, he had changed out of his suit and tie into a T-shirt and boxers, hoping to get some well-deserved sleep after several agonizingly long days. Of course, his thoughts were still with his partner, and he found it impossible to erase the image of her from his mind. He finally gave up on sleep and wound up on the couch, wasting time by channel surfing, and still thinking about Terry and her condition. He understood what Doctor Bailey had said about her physical recovery, and after seeing her bandaged and bruised he knew that she would be out of the field for several months. Instead, Don found himself involuntarily returning to the car ride to her apartment when Terry was silent, pensive, and withdrawn, completely unlike her normally confident and friendly self. Seeing her curled into the corner of her seat, staring out the window with a dazed, blank expression caused his chest and throat to tighten powerfully with emotion. If only she would talk to him and tell him what happened, he might be able to –

A quiet and uncertain knocking was heard at the door.

Puzzled, Don switched on the light and moved to the door, undid the locks in a few quick motions, and opened it. Terry was standing in the hallway, clad in pajamas and half-turned as though she was planning on bolting. She took in his casual attire with wide, uncertain eyes and rubbed anxiously at the bandages on her right arm.

"Terry? What's wrong? Is everything okay?" he asked concernedly.

"Yeah…um, I'm sorry I bothered you, Don. It was just…never mind. It's late, and I'm just going to go home. I'm really sorry," she said as she took several small, hesitant steps backwards. He immediately reached out to catch her arm to stop her from running off, and he pulled her towards him gently.

"It's okay. Come on inside for a while." Seeing her anxious glance toward the staircase, he quickly said, "I won't make you stay, but at least come in and relax for a few minutes. You really shouldn't be wearing yourself out too quickly."

As he spoke, Don gently guided her into the apartment, softly closing the door behind him. He watched her as they walked over to the couch and couldn't help but notice the way her eyes darted nervously around the room and the uncertain, shuffling steps she took in her bedroom slippers. Putting Jurassic Park on mute, he let her sit at one end of the sofa and began to quickly tidy up some newspapers and magazines at the other. "How'd you get here, Terry? Your car wasn't fixed yet."

"I called a cab. I didn't even know where I was going until we started driving." Don took in the way she sat at the end of the couch, hands folded tightly in her lap and slippered feet barely touching the ground. The baggy sleep shirt she was wearing made her look small and child-like, and her thin shoulders rose and fell with the quick, rabbity breaths she took. Suddenly she glanced up at him, her normally large eyes even more enormous than usual, and Don averted his scrutinizing gaze so she wouldn't be any more uncomfortable than she already was.

"Terry, if you want to talk or anything…"

She gave a little shake of her head. "No, Don, it's really okay. You don't even need to say anything. You being here is enough. I just…I didn't want to be alone."

Don nodded understandingly. "Okay. I'm going to make some tea. Would you like me to turn on the TV and get you a cup?"

At her grateful smile he un-muted the television, and the quiet noises of Jurassic Park filled the living room. Throwing a last look at Terry over his shoulder, he went to the kitchen to boil water and find some clean mugs. He luckily had a few herbal tea bags left, and he allowed the tea to steep with the hope that it would help her relax and get some much-needed sleep. Carefully carrying the two steaming mugs along with a box of Teddy Grahams he dug out of the pantry into the living room, he paused momentarily in the doorway. Terry, still seated at the end of the couch, now had her knees drawn up to her chest, her cast arm wrapped tightly around her legs, and her chin resting on her knees. Her hair hung loosely around her face and brushed lightly against the purplish gash on her cheek, and he heard her sigh audibly, bottom lip trembling as she did so.

Don walked over to the couch and smiled as he handed her one of the mugs, which she wrapped her hands around and balanced carefully on her knees. He sat down beside her and opened the Teddy Grahams, earning an inquisitive glance from Terry as he did so. "Charlie likes them, so I keep them around for him. I wouldn't get them on my own," he lied ineffectively. "He claims they're brain food or something."

He could tell by the quirked smile she gave him that she didn't buy it for a minute. "I'm sure. Charlie seems just the type to find the answers to math equations in a box of cinnamon Teddy Grahams."

He grinned, but to his disappointment Terry seemed to uncharacteristically lose interest and resumed staring at the television set. Though he didn't want to push her into conversation, he was deeply concerned about her aloof and reserved behavior. The next several minutes passed in silence, and he watched her from the corner of his eye as she slowly sipped her tea.

Don finally couldn't stand it anymore, and he turned to fully face her. "Terry, I wanted to say I'm sorry about what happened."

She looked up toward him in surprise. "Why are you apologizing?"

All of the guilt that Don had felt during the entire situation finally bubbled over, and he began in a rush, "It was my fault that you got involved like that. You were a means to an end for him, and if you hadn't been a convenient target he would have left you alone. I shouldn't have let you walk home alone. I'm supposed to look out for you, make sure that you're safe…and I didn't do that, and it was my fault that they found you."

"Don, it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known that –"

"It doesn't matter. I have a responsibility to you, and I let you down…and I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't made it."

She edged closer to him on the couch and gently took one of his hands in hers, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "But I did make it, and you were the one who found me. Don't blame yourself." He searched her eyes, but she broke off contact and looked away, pulling her hand back as she did so.

Don reached out a hand and tentatively touched her shoulder, but he yanked it away when he saw her cringe. His eyes dawned with understanding as he softly asked, "What did he do to you? How did he hurt you?"

At first Terry didn't respond, but then she looked up at him, and he was horrified to see tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. He could hear her breathing with hitching, uneven breaths, and she wrung her hands uncomfortably in her lap. "I hate him," she whispered, "I hate him for what he did to me. I wanted to stop him, but I couldn't…I wasn't strong enough to stop him."

As quiet tears began to course down her cheeks, Don gently put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into a comforting embrace. He felt one of her hands clench a handful of his shirt material as she buried her face into his chest. Don stroked her hair with his other hand, planting several soothing kisses on her forehead as he did so. He could feel Terry shaking with sobs that were eerily silent, and he carefully rocked her, making sure not to press too closely to her bandaged ribs. Considering what she had been through, Don thought he should hardly have been surprised at her emotional state, but this was Terry. He had always seen her as strong, resilient, an emotional rock, and seeing her this distraught was almost more than he could bear.

After several minutes he could feel the sobs racking her shoulders subside as she rested in his arms. She slowly brought herself up, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and brushing at his shirt which was now soaked in her tears.

"Oh Don, I got your shirt all wet," she said softly, her eyes lowered.

"Don't worry about it," Don said. He cupped her face gently in his hands and tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes. Giving her a smile, he used his thumbs to wipe away the last tears that lingered on her cheeks. "Do you feel a little better?"

"Yeah. Thank you." As he continued to watch her, she smiled nervously. "You're staring."

"Sorry," he said, tearing his eyes from her face. Suddenly he grinned and looked back at her. "I guess I couldn't help but notice whose shirt you're wearing."

She glanced down, and her smile brightened slightly. "I just found it tonight. I guess I forgot I even still had it. Don't worry though – I'll actually return it this time."

"That's okay. I think it looks much better on you anyway." Don noticed a pink flush appear on her cheeks, and she turned her attention back to the television wearing a faint smile.

"What are we watching?" she asked.

"Jurassic Park," he answered. At her questioning glance he explained, "There wasn't very much on, and call me a male, I happen to like dinosaurs. But I suppose that as my guest I can give you official and uncontested control over the remote."

Giving him an affectionate smile, Terry took the remote from his hand and began idly flipping channels, much as he had done not long ago. She eventually stopped on a channel that was playing a movie starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.

"You found something?"

She nodded, and as he felt her soft hair press against his arm, he realized that he still had his arm around her shoulders. "You've Got Mail – it's one of my favorite movies, but –" she smiled up at him innocently, "it's a chick flick."

"I've already told you that you have 100 percent control tonight. I won't say a word," he assured her.

The next two hours were spent in pleasant quietude. Don was surprised and happy to find that Terry didn't pull away from him as they watched the movie but instead stayed curled contentedly next to him. He heard her laugh quietly at her favorite parts, and even he had to admit that some of the lines were humorous. By the time the movie began to wind down it was nearly 2:00 in the morning, and he was thoroughly exhausted. Don suddenly realized that Terry's head, which was resting on his chest, had lolled forward slightly and that she had one hand tucked underneath her cheek. He could hear her slow, steady breathing, and he gently tugged the remote from her other curled hand and turned off the television. Glancing down, he saw that she was fast asleep and looked perfectly contented.

Not wanting to wake her, Don carefully eased himself out from under her light weight and grabbed a pillow from the other end of the sofa to place under her head. She stirred only slightly as he stood and took a blanket from the nearby armchair. When he turned back to face her, his eyes were caught by her legs which were covered in a myriad of bruises. He felt a painful lump form in his throat when he saw the large, shadowy marks in different shades of yellow, purple, and blue darkening her smooth white skin. Don hurriedly unfolded the blanket and gently covered her, tucking the edges around her. Kneeling beside her, he brushed a few strands of hair from her cheek and leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead. As he stood and walked toward his bedroom, he gave a final glance over his shoulder toward his sleeping partner and turned off the light.

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Terry awoke with a start and looked around the darkened room in momentary disorientation. Breathing heavily, the details of both the prior evening and her nightmare came flooding back to her. She remembered coming to Don's apartment for reasons that she couldn't explain; she must have fallen asleep at some point, and the nightmares that followed had resulted in a restless sleep. Carefully disentangling herself from the blanket on the couch, she stood on shaky legs and wrapped the blanket around herself again. Moving to the kitchen, she helped herself to a glass of water when she noticed her hands shaking nervously. The nightmares had deeply unnerved her, and she doubted whether she would be able to sleep again that night.

After placing her glass in the sink, she wandered from the kitchen and found herself in the doorway of Don's bedroom. For a reason that she couldn't explain, Terry tiptoed to the side of his bed and looked down at his sleeping form. She could hear his deep, steady breathing and could see how he slept on his side with one arm flung over his head. Carefully sitting on the edge of the bed, she gently touched his sleep-tousled hair with a smile.

Suddenly needing to be closer, Terry lifted the covers on the empty side of his bed and quietly slipped beneath the blankets. She pushed herself backwards until she could barely feel Don's chest against her back. _'I'll just stay for a few minutes,'_ she thought, _'Just until I calm down enough to fall asleep.'_ Closing her eyes with a heavy sigh, she felt Don stretch in his sleep, one arm falling and looping casually around her waist, and instinctively drawing her closer. She could feel his breathing on the back of her neck and his warm, muscular chest pressed against her back. Terry was immediately relaxed and sleepy. The safety and protection she felt in his arms caused her to involuntarily drift back to sleep within minutes.

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Don heard the sounds of cars and people on the street below his apartment, and he could tell without opening his eyes that early morning sunlight had begun to filter in through the window. Blinking against the light as he opened his eyes, he glanced down with the sudden realization that Terry was curled up next to him. One of his arms had managed to find its way around her waist, and her face was inches from his, the top of her head tucked up under his chin. Pulling away from her slightly so he could look into her face, he watched her sleep.

Her right hand rested on his chest, and her hair fell over the pillow in a tousled spray. A faint smile tugged at her mouth, and he could see her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones as she dreamed. Though the deep, purple gash was still glaringly evident on her cheek, Don somehow found it easier to ignore it when she was in such a calm and peaceful state and leaned down to kiss her lightly on the lips.

As he watched, she gave a contented sigh and snuggled closer until her head came to rest in the hollow beneath his collar bone. Feeling his own eyelids droop in tiredness, Don protectively tightened his arm-hold around her waist, content to drift off to sleep again. At that moment, the horrible events of the last few days fell away, and he finally allowed himself to believe that everything would work out for the best.

LA FIN!

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**Author's Note 2: **As always, reviews are accepted, loved, and cherished, and I'd be especially interested in hearing what you thought about the story as a whole (now that it's finally done!). Thank all of you soooo much for your constant support – this was my first fanfic for anything, and it was great knowing that you were all there. Your kind words made it worth the long hours. You made this a great experience, and I can't wait until the plot bunnies bite me again! Hope I can write for you again soon!


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